


In Another World

by The Last Speecher (HeidiMelone)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Monster Falls, Alternate Universe - Reverse Portal, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, FrankenStan AU, Frankenstan, Gen, Grim au, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inverse Falls, Inverted Falls, Journal of Missing Links AU, Mystery Trio, Neverhuman AU, one of us au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiMelone/pseuds/The%20Last%20Speecher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Join Stanford Pines, PhD., as he travels across the multiverse on his journey back to Gravity Falls.  On the bright side, a multiverse means that there are a lot of different places called Gravity Falls.  But if you’re looking for a specific one, it might take a while.  Say, thirty years?<br/>(A collection of one-shots taking place in various Alternate Universes of Gravity Falls.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Even so, you…may still reach home, suffering all the way…” – Homer, _The Odyssey_

**Date:** Perhaps two months after the incident? Unsure  
**Dimension:** K7’6’1  
**Location:** Just outside the city limits of Klokliothe  
**Weather:** Snowing (methane)

**Observations:**  
This dimension is not safe. When it is not snowing methane, it is raining sulfuric acid. When the winds are not strong enough to literally lift me off the ground, the silence is enough to drive me mad. His eyes are everywhere. I need to escape.

Luckily, there are some kind souls here, who have told me of the presence of natural time rifts; temporal anomalies which occur without outside interference, and can be used to dimension hop. Apparently, dimension hopping is a sport in many dimensions, played by adrenaline junkies. And refugees. 

I managed to craft a device to pinpoint the weak spots in reality. Using it, I have located a potential location of a natural time rift. I was also told the signs of a rift opening, and have seen them all within the last hour:  
\- Bright lights (resembling the “will-o-the-wisps” of European myth)  
\- Visual static  
\- A sense that time is slowing down or speeding up  
\- A hush like the one that follows a heavy snowfall, despite the presence of winds which should be howling

**Conclusions:**  
It is time to leave. I know not where I may arrive. All I know is that this dimension is not built for humans to survive. I know not whether I will survive the journey. Will I be torn apart? Will I suffocate? It doesn’t matter; I have no choice. As they would say back home, Godspeed.

**Notes:**  
Will I ever escape him, his minions, the extent of his reach?  
Will I ever return home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited for this particular fanfiction! There will be a grand total of 12 different AUs. Be prepared for a lot of familiar characters in strange situations. I hope people enjoy it!  
> 


	2. A Position of Some Peril

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Do you know…that you and I are about to place ourselves in **a position of some peril**?” – Robert Louis Stevenson, _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_

**Date:** March 9, 1979  
**Dimension:** G-212  
**Location:** The forests of Gravity Falls, OR  
**Weather:** Blood rain

**Observations:**  
Don’t be fooled by this universe’s outward appearance; it is not mine. I arrived in this reality, and, optimistic it may be mine, began to head toward my house. However, I was stopped by a newspaper, which blew directly into my face. If this was indeed my reality, I had somehow traveled back three years. It makes more sense to assume that this is merely a reality in which the timeline runs slightly slower than in my home one.

I initially interacted with the locals, but after a few instances of people recognizing me, chose to stick with observing this reality’s version of myself. After a few weeks of “Stanford-watching”, I have learned the following:  
\- Fiddleford and myself have been doing research in Gravity Falls for about three years now  
\- Roughly two months ago, Stanley appeared in Gravity Falls  
\- With a mullet? I am unsure as to why he chose that hairstyle  
\- Since then, he will occasionally go to the grocery store and return with far too much beer  
\- Stan regularly accompanies both Fiddleford and myself on trips into the forest  
\- These trips appear to usually end with Stan carrying Fiddleford and myself away from a dangerous creature  
\- This reality’s version of myself apparently prefers dark T-shirts, rather than sweaters  
\- The cave in which I found the instructions to summon Bill is undisturbed

**Conclusions:**  
In this reality, I hired Fiddleford prior to summoning Bill. I do not know why this version of myself appears to be less interested in the source of the anomalies of Gravity Falls than I was. Regardless, in this reality, I also hired Stanley, presumably as a bodyguard of some sort, which was a wise decision, as Gravity Falls can be hazardous even on its best days. The three of us form a trio of sorts, in which we attempt to resolve the mysteries of Gravity Falls. It seems…nice. Even if I can hear Stan and Fiddleford’s arguments from outside the house.

**Notes:**  
Did Stanley break my science experiment in this reality? Is that why this version of myself felt comfortable reaching out to him?  
What made Stan think that a mullet was a good idea?  
Why has this reality’s version of myself not kicked Stan out for arguing so much with Fiddleford?  
Why has Stan been arguing with Fiddleford so much? I mean, _I_ was always respectful of _his_ significant others. More or less.  
Will this version of myself ever discover Bill? Or would Stan prevent that from happening? He was always able to tell when someone was a conman, or a liar, or both.

\---

_It has been approximately two months since Stan agreed to be, for lack of a better term, my bodyguard. Well, mine and Fiddleford’s, that is. Fiddleford requires a bodyguard just as much as I do, if not more so. He’s even weaker than I am. But then again, when you come from a small town where your family is well-respected, physical strength isn’t of the utmost priority._

_Either way, Stan has been having some…issues adjusting to life in Gravity Falls. Sometimes I wonder if it was the best idea, to ask Stan for his assistance. He and I have been arguing off and on, and his rash behavior contrasts with Fiddleford’s mild-mannered southern charm. They regularly clash, and swear words can be heard throughout the house._

_Be that as it may, he has saved both our lives on multiple occasions. For example, just yesterday, we were examining the Gremloblin, and he-_

“What were ya thinkin’?” At the sound of Fiddleford’s shout, Ford jerked his hand instinctively, leaving a long black streak across the page. He sighed.

_Another page ruined. That’s what I get for writing in ink instead of pencil._

“Knowing me, probably nothing.”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Ford closed his journal and sighed again. Fiddleford and Stan were at each other’s throats. He had a feeling as to why.  
Fiddleford’s family had stopped by recently, to wish him a happy birthday. The McGuckets were all objectively attractive, which Stan had realized immediately. And just as quickly, he had decided to let them know how attractive they were. Through the use of pick-up lines.  
“Stanley, what was the one thing I asked ya not to do while my family was visitin’?”

“Hit on your little sister.”

“And what did ya do?”

“…Hit on your little sister.”

“Why did ya do that?”

“To be fair, all of your other siblings are in relationships.”

“Harper isn’t,” Ford said, entering the room where Stan and Fiddleford were arguing.

“Yeah, but Harper is seven years older than Fiddlenerd, which makes him eight years older than me, which makes it weird.”

“My little sister is workin’ on her degree, she can’t afford to be distracted by muscular men with mullets.”

“You think I’m muscular?”

“I’m repeatin’ what she said. Includin’ the ‘can’t afford to get distracted’ part.”

“Well, would you give me her number? For when she _can_ afford to get distracted?”

“Stanley S. Pines, if ya don’t stop flirtin’ with everythin’ that moves, I’ll-” Fiddleford’s threat was cut off by a clattering sound from the kitchen. They all looked around. Everyone in the house was counted for. No one that they knew of was in the kitchen.

“Gimme a sec, I’ll go get my bat,” Stan said in a bored voice.

 

“All right, I got my bat, let’s see what sort of magical shit is eating our leftovers this time,” Stan said, disappointed by how quickly the idea of beating up monsters had become boring. He looked around the room. “Stanford? Fiddlenerd?”

“In here!” a voice called from the kitchen. “Hurry, please!” Stan groaned.

“You leave them for two seconds to get a weapon and they manage to get attacked while you’re gone,” he grumbled, hefting the bat in his hands. He was not prepared for what he saw in the kitchen.

Fiddleford was strapped to the floor with string. A large group of small bearded men were running on the counters, the table, and standing on top of Fidds. The refrigerator door was open, and two or three of them were digging through the Tupperware containers of chicken and mac and cheese.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Stan shouted, swinging his bat at the closest one, knocking it off the counter. The others turned to face him and hissed, exposing sharp teeth. Stan was not impressed. “Go on, scram, you pests!” he said, kicking one that was standing nearby. “I don’t have time for this, I’ve still gotta get chewed out by Fiddlenerd some more! Shoo!”

He had to punch, hit, and kick a few more before they got the idea and left, scampering out the back door on all fours. One managed to snag a container of some leftover beef stew the McGuckets had given Fiddleford. When they were all gone, Stan stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking around at the mess. Apparently, they were into jam. All of the jars they owned had been broken open, and the sweet goo was sliding down various surfaces. 

“Mind helpin’ me up?” Fiddleford asked, from where he was still tied down on the floor. 

“It’s just string, man. I think you can handle it,” Stan said, leaning his bat against the wall and closing the refrigerator door. Fiddleford was, in fact, able to break free from the string, and brushed it off before standing up. “Toldya you could handle it.”

“Yes, well, it was more difficult to get outta there when those little critters were standin’ on me.”

“Makes sense.” Stan began to close various cupboards. “Where the hell’s that brother of mine? It’s probably his fault that those…things broke in, anyways. He’s pretty damn good at pissing off the magical creatures that live around here.”

“The gnomes are not very big fans of Ford, that’s correct,” Fiddleford said. “Which is probably why they’ve kidnapped him.” Stan frowned.

“Why would they kidnap him if they didn’t like him? You’re just forcing someone to spend time with you, and if you don’t like spending time with them-”

“Stanley, did ya somehow skip over the fact that your brother has been kidnapped?!”

“No, I heard that part. I’m just wondering what sort of logic these magical creatures use. What did you call them? Gnomes?”

“Yes, gnomes! And Ford is not on very good terms with them. We need to go after him, before they kill him!” Stan scoffed.

“My brother’s a wimp, but I think even he could handle a few pipsqueaks like that.” Fiddleford grabbed Stan’s shoulders and began to shake him.

“Ya don’t understand! The gnomes are dangerous and powerful! And they have Stanford!” Stan pushed Fiddleford away with one hand.

“Fine, we’ll go after my brother. But if you touch me again, Fiddlenerd, you’ll regret it.” Fiddleford gulped and nodded, following Stan out the door. “Good thing I have my bat with me already,” Stan mumbled, not bothering to hold the screen door open for Fidds, letting it slam into him. “Maybe I can get a few swings at Ford, for pissing off yet another dangerous magical thing.”

 

“Remind me why I rescued you, seeing as you ended up pissing them off even more while you were captured?” Stan grumbled, picking leaves and sticks out of his mullet. 

“I sign your paychecks,” Ford replied, still brushing dirt off his sleeves.

“True.” Stan began to run his fingers through his hair. Something bit him. “Ouch!” He pulled it out, saw it was another gnome, and threw it off somewhere into the underbrush. “How the hell did I not realize there was one of those things in my fucking hair?”

“I keep tellin’ ya Stan, get a haircut.”

“Like you’re one to talk, Fiddlenerd. Those sideburns are a crime against nature.”

“Then at least keep it tied back.”

“Are you offering to braid my hair for me?”

“I wasn’t, but I could if ya want.”

“Don’t.” They walked in silence for a few moments, each examining their arms to see if they had any bruises they had not noticed before. Stan looked over at Fiddleford, who had managed to stay out of the fight pretty well. “You’re not seriously going to eat that, are you?”

“What, the stew?” Fiddleford held up the Tupperware container the gnomes had stolen. “It doesn’t look like they managed to open it, and it’s an old McGucket recipe. I’m not goin’ to throw it out.”

“They tried to bite the lid off. I wouldn’t trust it, and I once chewed my way out of the trunk of a car.”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s a long story.” They finished the trip back to the house without saying anything else. When they walked through the door, Fiddleford bolted off, calling dibs on taking a shower first. “Really? I’m the one that beat off about a million of those suckers. I think I deserve the first shower!” Stan called after him. He sighed. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll just take a nap.”

“It’s 9 pm.”

“It’s not a nap if it’s at 9 pm?”

“Then it’s called falling asleep.”

“Shut up, Sixer, I’m not in fifth grade, I don’t need to go to bed at 9.” They stood quietly, looking around at the disaster of a kitchen.

“Thanks for coming after me,” Ford said quietly. Stan shrugged. 

“Like you said, you sign my paychecks. Also, that assistant of yours insisted.”

“I can’t believe you managed to get along for a long enough time to come and get me. Maybe one day you’ll be friends.”

“Good God, Sixer, you sound like an after school special.” Ford punched him in the arm.

“If you guys stop arguing so much, I won’t have to keep rewriting everything.”

“Or you could just use pencils.” Stan put his hands on his hips, glanced around the wrecked room one last time, and groaned. “I am not going to clean this up right now.” He left, heading to his bedroom. “I’ll deal with it in the morning.”  


\---

“Sixer, what the hell made you think this was a good idea?!” Stan shouted, punching another undead in the face. 

“I didn’t know what it did!” Ford replied, whacking a zombie with a table leg. 

“Didn’t the feller ya bought the spell from say that it raised the dead?” Fiddleford asked, holding his banjo like a bat, staring wide-eyed at the approaching zombie horde.

“Yes, but I didn’t know whether they were telling the truth or not. So I had to test it!”

“Ford, what the fuck?”

“I agree with Stanley, Stanford. It would’ve been better if ya had thought to come up with a way to fix the problem, before causin’ it.”

“Fidds, you’re supposed to support me!” 

“Well, I can’t support ya if I’m dead!” Fiddleford squeaked and swung his banjo at one of the zombies, knocking it back with a terrible cracking noise. “Oh no, Banjey!” He examined his banjo quickly to make sure it wasn’t broken.

“You can get a new hillbilly guitar later! Right now, we need to fight!” Stan hollered, continuing to fend off the bulk of the undead. Fiddleford ignored him and strummed the strings carefully, producing a C major chord. The zombie closest to him exploded, green goo splattering all over both the engineer and his instrument.

“AUGH!” he shouted. “What in blazes was that?”

“A three-part harmony,” Ford whispered. “Of course! Zombies have thinner skulls, due to them being dead, and a sound at the right frequency will cause it to fracture and burst!”

“I have no clue what you just said, but it sounded sorta like a plan,” Stan said. “So, what is it?”

“Fiddleford, can you play more things on your banjo?”

“She’s all gooped up,” Fiddleford said sadly. “It won’t reverberate right.” Ford nodded and rubbed his chin, deep in thought, completely oblivious to his brother still fighting off the undead.

“We’ll have to produce a three-part harmony,” he said finally.

“How?”

“We need to sing.” Stan scoffed.

“You don’t wanna hear me sing.”

“The zombies definitely won’t.”

“Wow, thanks. I mean, I know I don’t have the prettiest singing voice, but I think that people who are _literally dead_ could handle it.”

“No, Stan, we need to sing, all of us, to produce a three-part harmony. That should shatter all the zombies’ skulls, and then we can just clean everything up.” Stan looked over at the nerds. 

“It sounds nuts, but then again, everything about this town is nuts. I’ve bought us a few seconds, so what are we gonna to sing?” Ford shrugged. “Sixer, you’re the one who came up with this plan!”

“Well, what do you want to sing?” Stan frowned and thought for a moment. He then grinned and picked up a table leg off the floor, broke it in two, and handed the other half to Fiddleford.

“Here, a microphone.”

“This is a table leg.”

“If we’re gonna sing, we’re gonna do it right.” Stan took a deep breath. “ _First I was afraid, I was petrified!_ ” he sang in a cracking falsetto. 

“Seriously?” Ford asked, trying to fight back a grin. 

“A very apropos song,” Fiddleford said, setting his banjo down while Stan was still screeching.

“ _I will survive!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the Mystery Trio chapter! Sorry for the length, I wanted to cover two different circumstances and the gnomes ended up taking long than I thought they would.  
> If you have any questions beyond "When will the next chapter go up?" (which I am not sure about), feel free to message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	3. Fear and Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I was a battleground of **fear and curiosity**.” – H.G. Wells, _The War of the Worlds_

**Date:** October 12, 1979  
**Dimension:** *42  
**Location:** Greasy’s Diner, Gravity Falls, OR  
**Weather:** Partly cloudy

**Observations:**  
I was optimistic upon my arrival, as this dimension appeared to be my own. However, I should have known that the Pines family luck would not allow me such a speedy return. I realized my mistake, when I saw this reality’s version of myself in the grocery store, explaining to this reality’s version of Fiddleford what an orange was.  


As I had a few days before a new temporal hole developed, I chose to investigate further. I have learned from locals the following:  
\- Fiddleford only recently appeared in Gravity Falls  
\- About a week prior to his arrival, myself and Stan were seen near the crashed spaceship  
\- Yes, apparently in this reality as well, I hired Stan to assist me in my research  
\- However, I hired Stan prior to hiring Fiddleford  
\- In fact, from what I have gleaned, it does not seem that Fiddleford assists me, so much as _I_ assist _him_  
\- Fiddleford appears to have some form of culture shock, reacting to Gravity Falls as I did to the multidimensional bazaar on Regelius 8  
\- He also seems to struggle to speak English correctly and follow proper etiquette; his body language is off  
\- Occasionally, Fiddleford is seen with feathers in his hair 

**Conclusions:**  
I feel that Fiddleford is a stranger to Western civilization. He seems to have some sort of culture shock. This, combined with his ineptitude with English and human behavior, suggests that Fiddleford is not just a stranger to the United States, but a stranger to Earth. The evidence points to Fiddleford being an alien. I do not see any other explanation. I always knew there were aliens among us. I just didn’t expect them to be my research assistant. 

**Notes:**  
I find it infinitely strange that Fiddleford, despite being an alien, has a human appearance and southern accent.  
Why does Fiddleford have feathers on his person, to the extent that strangers have noticed? Does his species have avian characteristics?  
Did the spaceship in this reality crash later than in my home dimension? Do the aliens have extended lifespans? Or is there some other explanation for Fiddleford’s youth?  
Perhaps I could “borrow” the notes of this reality’s version of me. I have always wondered what kind of aliens crashed in Gravity Falls.  
In just how many dimensions am I doing research with Stanley? The fact that I have arrived in yet another one suggests a multi-universal constant of some sort. How did my dimension skip past it? 

\---

“Ford, we are not adopting an alien!” Stan hissed at his brother. They were in the crashed spaceship, which Stan was still wrapping his mind around. He couldn’t really handle the fact that they had also stumbled across a still-alive member of the spaceship’s crew, in what Ford had called “suspended animation”. 

“Of course we aren’t. For one thing, he’s clearly fully grown. It wouldn’t make sense to adopt an adult.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sixer, he doesn’t even speak English!”

“Which is why we need to bring him back to the house with us! If he doesn’t know any human language, how would he survive?”

“I don’t know, maybe the Manotaurs would take him in.”

“Stanley, please.”

“You just want him to come live with us because you have a crush on weird shit.”

“Stanley.” Stan groaned and looked back at the alien, who was standing a few feet away, clearly not comprehending anything. Something about the look on his face reminded Stan of his days on the streets. He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Fine. He can come with us. But if he shits on the furniture, I’m clipping his wings.”

 

“Good mornin’!” A chipper southern voice greeted Stan when he walked into the kitchen. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, but it didn’t help him make sense of anything. The alien they had brought to the house last night was peering intently at the oven, which was on. 

“Shit!” Stan pushed the alien away from the appliance. “Don’t do that! Bad alien! With those feathers you’d go up in flames faster than a rope coated in kerosene.” The alien blinked, a blank look on his face. “Ah, fuck, you don’t speak English, I forgot.” Stan sighed heavily and opened the oven door. There was a casserole dish on the second rack. He closed it and turned to face the alien, suddenly noticing the pasta sauce and cheese scattered all over him (and the floor). “Were you…cooking something? No, wait, you don’t know what I’m saying, do you? Goddamn, this is going to be difficult.” He looked away.

“I know what you’re sayin’,” the same southern voice he’d heard earlier said. Stan looked back at the alien, who was smiling at him. 

_Pointy teeth? I thought he was a bird. Wouldn’t he_ not _have any teeth? Wait, did he just talk to me?_

“You can speak English?”

“Yessir.”

“Since when?”

“Last night. You left the picture box on.”

“Picture box? Oh, the TV.”

“Yes, that. I picked up some words from it.”

“…Like how parrots can ask for treats and shit like that.” The alien cocked his head to one side.

“What does ‘shit’ mean?” 

_Ford probably doesn’t want me teaching the alien swears._

“It doesn’t mean anything important. Just…don’t say it, okay?” The alien blinked again.

“Okay.” A moment passed. “Could ya please move outta the way? I think the lasagna should be done.”

“Lasagna? For breakfast?” Stan asked, stepping away from the oven. After thinking about it a bit more, he shrugged. “Beats eating the terrible cereal Ford buys. Where did you learn how to cook lasagna?”

“The picture box. Sorry, TV.”

“What, was Julia Childs on or something?” The alien frowned, clearly not understanding his reference. “Never mind what I just said, I was being a smartass. It’ll be nice to have someone around here who can cook,” Stan thought out loud. “We’ve been living off frozen pizza and canned beans.”

“Yes, I noticed that there weren’t many options for cookin’,” the alien said, taking the lasagna out of the oven without putting any mitts on, holding the hot casserole dish with his strange talons. “Maybe the store would have some fresh produce.”

“They usually do,” Stan said, eyeing the lasagna hungrily. He opened a drawer to take out a fork, realized they were all dirty, and grabbed a spoon instead. Ford stumbled into the kitchen. “Morning, nerd.” 

“Morning, Stan,” Ford replied, getting a coffee mug out of the cupboard. He looked over at the alien. “Good morning, Mr. Alien.”

“Mornin’, Ford,” the alien chirped. Ford’s coffee mug slipped out of his hands and shattered on the floor.

“You can speak English?” he asked in that borderline manic tone he used for supernatural things. Stan looked up from the lasagna, which he had to admit, tasted pretty damn good.

“Yeah, apparently, he picked it up from watching TV. Like parakeets.”

“That’s so impressive!” The starriness of Ford’s eyes carried over into his words. “What else can you do?”

“Make a mean lasagna,” Stan said, resuming eating directly out of the casserole dish with his spoon.

“Stan, that was for everyone! Ya need to share!”

“Sorry,” Stan mumbled, his mouth full. 

“It’s okay, Mr. Alien. I prefer cereal over pasta in the morning. And I think you would prefer it, as well. I’m not sure if you have cows on your planet, so you might not have the proper enzymes to digest lactose.” Stan looked up, purely for the purpose of seeing the alien’s response. He had made a good decision. The alien was completely bewildered.

“What?”

“You might not be able to eat lasagna, but you can probably eat Ford’s gross cereal,” Stan translated. 

“…Oh. Ya know, Ford, ya don’t have to call me ‘Mr. Alien’.”

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t know if your species has the proper vocal cords to pronounce it correctly. But ya can call me ‘Fidds’.”

“‘Fidds’. Okay.”

“Where’s your, uh, what did the TV call it, the room with the water bowls?” Stan and Ford stared at Fidds.

“The bathroom?” Ford asked. 

“Yes, that! Where is it?”

“Down the hall, to the left.”

“Thanks.” The alien left, the talons on his feet clacking against the floor. Stan abruptly spoke to his brother.

“Sixer, why the hell does he have a southern accent?”

“I’m not sure, but at least your concerns about him defecating on the furniture were unfounded.”

 

“Stanford, could I go with y’all to the store?”

“Fidds, we’ve been over this,” Ford said wearily. “An alien would draw a lot of attention.” Fidds pouted. “If you weren’t covered in feathers, maybe we could talk. But right now, you can’t come with us.” The alien frowned thoughtfully.

“So, what you’re sayin’ is that if I could pretend to be human, I could go out and about?”

“Yes.” Fidds cocked his head.

“Well then, why didn’t ya say so earlier?” Ford watched as the feathers across Fidds’ body retracted into his skin. His talons shrunk and softened, becoming normal hands. He blinked, and in the space of blinking, his black bird-like eyes became bright blue human ones. His red head feathers flattened out, changing to strands of dirty blond hair. The entire process took only a few seconds, and by the time it was done, Fidds stood in the middle of the room, looking completely human. And buck naked. Ford couldn’t help but stare.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. Stan poked his head into the room.

“Hey, nerd, I’m gonna head out soon and- oh my god.” Stan quickly looked away from the naked alien. “Ford, what the hell is going on here?” Ford looked at his brother.

“Apparently, Fidds can adopt a human form.”

“And you decided to stare at him while he’s human and naked? Damn, Sixer, you’re kinky as hell.” Ford reddened.

“It was purely a scientific curiosity!”

“Sure. Why don’t you get that alien some pants and a shirt. Maybe we can take him to the store. He’s a toothpick. Your clothes won’t fit him that well.” 

“I can go to the store?” Fidds sounded ecstatic, happy in the same way that children are when they are allowed to get ice cream.

“Sure thing, Fiddlebird. But a human walking around without a stitch of clothes on draws just as much attention as an alien. So, uh, make yourself decent,” Stan said, walking away.

 

“So, tell me about the reproductive nature of your species,” Ford said, his journal open, pen poised and ready to write down everything Fidds said.

“We lay eggs.”

“Are they laid prior to fertilization, or after?”

“After.”

“And fertilization occurs by?”

“…I believe the same process as your species.”

“So, fucking,” Stan said, eating a bag of chips and standing next to his twin brother.

“Stan, do you need to be so crass?”

“Just getting clarification, Sixer. I’m helping.” Ford sighed. 

“Anyways, Fidds, approximately how many eggs are laid per clutch?”

“One. Although there are sometimes multiple eggs. Like with humans.” Ford nodded, tapping his pen against his chin.

“It’s strange. Most birds fertilize eggs after being laid.”

“Well, I’m fairly certain that fertilization happens before. Otherwise, I woulda laid a number of eggs in my life. Haven’t laid a single one yet.” Stan and Ford stared at Fidds.

“Did you just say that _you_ would lay an egg?”

“If it’s fertilized, sure.”

“Your species is hermaphroditic?”

“What?”

“You can either fertilize eggs or lay them.”

“No. I can lay them. I can’t fertilize them. I can only do one thing.”

“So, you’re female?” Ford asked, confused.

“If females are capable of reproduction, yes. But on your TV, all the females are she. I’m not. I’m a he.” Fidds tilted his head to one side. “Maybe I’m not a female.”

“You’re transgender,” Stan said. Ford looked at him. “I met plenty of all kinds of people on the streets,” he said by way of explanation.

“Does your species have a special term for people like you?” Ford asked.

“No. I’m just me. Fidds.”

“No labels? I think I like this alien culture,” Stan said, grinning.

“Thank you.”

“No prob, Fiddlebird.” Ford frowned, flipping through his notes on Fidds’ species.

“I can’t believe I haven’t asked this yet,” he said. “Fidds, what’s the name of your species?”

“Guck.”

“What?”

“We’re called Gucks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I'm a sucker for AUs, and this AU is one that myself and a friend came up with. We call it "Space Guck AU". I'm excited to hear what you guys think of it, so please, let me know!  
> The next chapter is a more traditional AU, which you have probably heard of. Not sure when it will go up, though. Sorry.  
> If you have any questions, feel free to message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	4. Boats Against the Current

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “So we beat on, **boats against the current** , borne back ceaselessly into the past.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby_

**Date:** July 13, 2012  
**Dimension:** C/18-59/D  
**Location:** Outside the Mystery Pictures Gallery, Gravity Falls, OR  
**Weather:** Foggy

 **Observations:**  
I have made yet another time jump. But rather than stepping into the past, I have leapt into the future. Approximately thirty years into the future. Apparently, this reality runs on a faster time scale than mine. Upon my arrival, I realized immediately that this is not my home. For a number of reasons.  
\- The building in which I live in my reality is called the “Mystery Pictures Gallery” and is owned by a “Dipper Pines”  
\- I _do_ exist in this reality, as do Stanley and Fiddleford  
\- I see Dan Corduroy frequently in and out of the gallery. He seems to work there. But he is approximately sixteen years old  
\- This version of myself is ten to twelve years old. As is Stan  
\- In fact, all adults I have met are now children  
\- I have never met any of the adults of this reality before  
\- This reality’s version of Stan and myself are visiting our “Great Uncle Dipper” for the summer  
\- Fiddleford and Carla both live in Gravity Falls

 **Conclusions:**  
Is this some sort of dimension where parental roles were swapped? How does that even work? It makes no sense! I suppose there really _is_ a universe for every possible alternate path or combination.  
Regardless, this whole situation is rather unsettling to me. I am eager to depart. But before I leave, I should pick up some of the photos taken by this “Dipper Pines”. Supposedly, he has images of corporeal ghosts, something I was unable to achieve.

 **Notes:**  
How many time jumps will I be making over the course of this journey? It makes keeping track of how much time I have actually spent as a nomad difficult.  
Is Dipper his real name? Who would name their child that? Then again, the entire McGucket family has rather…unfortunate names. And my father named myself and my twin “Stan”.  
Why are Fiddleford and Carla in Gravity Falls? Fidds is from Arkansas, while Carla grew up in Glass Shard Beach with Stan and myself.  
Are the adults of this reality children in my home reality? Have they yet to be born back home? Is that why I do not know them?  
Is Dipper my child back home? Stan’s? Shermy’s? Or a grandson to one of us? I suppose the only way to know for sure is to get back.  
(I certainly _hope_ I don’t have a son back home that I was not aware of.)

\---

Stan’s face was pressed up against the window of the dingy bus. Ford sat next to him, reading a book on scientific theory. 

“Come on, Poindexter, you’re not going to spend the entire summer with your nose in some nerd book, are you?” Stan asked finally, peeling himself off the glass with a sucking sound.

“It’s by Neil Degrasse Tyson,” Ford said, looking at his brother. “I suspect I’ll finish it by tomorrow.” Stan punched him on the shoulder.

“Bro, this is our first time away from home! It’s our chance to have an epic adventure! Maybe we’ll even find treasure!”

“I doubt there’s much treasure to be found in Gravity Falls, Oregon.”

“That’s quitting talk. If we find treasure, we can use it to finally finish up the Stan O’ War. All of the work and supplies are cutting into my popsicle fund.”

“Last stop’s coming up,” the bus driver said before Ford could reply. “You boys better put your shoes back on.” 

They looked out the window together, their eyes soaking in what they could see of the small town. The bus pulled up to the station and stopped with a horrid screech.

“Ford, do you think that’s him?” Stan asked, looking at the elderly man leaning against the wall, outside the station. 

“He _is_ the only person there.” They stared at him from the bus for a few moments. The old man coughed and adjusted his glasses before realizing he was being watched. A grin broke across his face at the sight of the twins. “Yep, that’s got to be our Great Uncle Dipper.”

 

“So, uh, just, look around or whatever,” Dipper said as he opened the door to his house/photo gallery. “Try not to set anything on fire.”

“Can’t make any promises,” Stan replied, rocketing past his great uncle and into the building. “Whoa, Grunkle Dipper, you didn’t say that your pictures were all of weird supernatural things! Ford, come in here, you like this sort of stuff.” Ford walked through the doorway at a more leisurely pace, but was just as equally impressed as his twin, if not more so.

“That’s the reason I moved to Gravity Falls,” Dipper replied, cracking his back and following his great-nephews. Every time his cane hit the floor, it made a resounding _thunk_. “There are a lot of very fascinating things here. Ghosts, gnomes, fairies, gremlins, goblins, gremloblins. You name it, we got it.” Ford had been listening intently, and felt a strange sense of happiness when he realized that his great uncle had the same passion for the unusual that he did. The sparkle in Dipper’s eyes was even the same. At least, until it stopped and was replaced by a steely demeanor. “But you two better not go looking for any magical creatures.”

“Why not?” Stan asked, standing on top of one of the bookshelves. “You did.”

“Not when I was twelve. It’s too dangerous for kids your age to go after the weird things in Gravity Falls. So, don’t. Or I might have to ground you.”

“Pfft, you can try,” Stan said, climbing down and knocking off a number of photo albums. 

“Put those back on the shelf,” Dipper said. He left the room, mumbling something about developing pictures of a pterodactyl in his dark room. Ford walked over to Stan, who was most definitely not putting the photo albums back on the bookshelf, but rather flipping through them and then tossing each one aside when he was done.

“These are my favorite kind of books,” Stan said, picking up yet another. “All pictures and no words.” 

“We should probably put them back,” Ford said. “Stan, let me stand on your head so I can reach.”

“You got it, bro.” Once Ford was standing on Stan’s head, Stan handed him the various photo albums. He tried to give him the last one, but Ford didn’t take it. “Ford? Whatchya doing?”

“There’s something on this bookshelf.”

“Probably a book.”

“Okay, yeah, but it’s crammed in the back, like someone forgot about it, or someone was trying to hide it.”

“And?”

“It looks really different from all the others.”

“Well then take it out! But put this last one back. My arm’s getting tired holding it up for this long.” Ford climbed back down and showed Stan the different book. “It reminds me of Ma’s scrapbook. You know, the one that she has bits of our hair saved in?”

“Wait, what?”

“You didn’t know? Whatever, let’s crack this sucker open.” Ford flipped open the bright pink scrapbook. 

“‘Property of M’. Who’s M?” Stan shrugged.

“Maybe we’ll find out if we flip through it.” Ford obliged, turning the colorful pages one by one. “A lot of pictures.”

“Hand-drawn. Not photos like Grunkle Dipper. Is this in code?” Ford peered at the scribbled handwriting.

“No, I think it’s just chicken scratch,” Stan said, also looking closely at the letters. “It’s written really weirdly. Doesn’t seem very science-y.”

“Scrapbooks aren’t supposed to be science-y.” Ford turned to a page with a long passage written. “Hmm, that’s weird.”

“What’s it say?”

“‘I was wrong. Like the idiot I am, I let myself get led astray. I’ve lost one of my closest friends, and I’m pretty sure I’ll lose myself, too. There is only one person I can trust now. I’ve known him my whole life, so of course I would trust him with it. You can always trust family.’ Huh. That’s kind of…out of place.” Ford turned the page, but the next one was blank. “Wait, none of the rest of the pages have anything on them.”

“Maybe this ‘M’ got bored.”

“Or maybe they were kidnapped. Or murdered.”

“That makes sense.” Stan took the scrapbook from his brother. 

“Hey!”

“You were wrong, Poindexter. There’s something else in here.”

“What?” Stan began to pry the thick construction paper off the back cover. He slid a thick, folded sheet of yellowed paper from in between the cardboard and the pink construction paper.

“It’s got a bunch of funky symbols and lines on it,” Stan said, opening it and holding it up. He turned it. “No words.”

“Give me that.” Ford snatched it from Stan. He gasped. “It looks like blueprints.”

“For what?”

“Some sort of…death machine, maybe?”

“You can tell that from one measly little piece of paper? Yeah, right.”

“What are you two doing?” Stan and Ford yelped, Ford quickly hiding the piece of paper behind his back. Dan Corduroy, one of the workers at their great uncle’s gallery, was standing in front of them. Ford turned red.

“N-nothing. Just looking at some of Grunkle Dipper’s photo albums.” Dan picked up the scrapbook.

“Never seen this one before.”

“We, uh, got that from the library.”

“Huh, weird.” Dan handed Stan the scrapbook and tipped his hat at the twins. “Later, dudes.” He walked out the door, whistling. Stan turned to his brother.

“Ford, we can’t tell Grunkle Dipper we found this book.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because he’ll take it from us! He hid it for a reason, probably.”

“Then we should put it back.”

“I thought that you would’ve been interested in figuring out more about this death machine you were talking about.”

“…Fine. But as soon as we read it once, we’re putting it back.”

“You got it, Sixer.”

 

“Stan, do you really feel the need to hit on every girl you see?”

“Pfft, it’s not _every_ girl.”

“There was the one that made the pies with the easy bake oven.”

“Yeah, Susan’s cute.”

“There was the one with the flower in her hair.”

“Carla’s _really_ cute.”

“There was the one in the gallery.”

“Which one?”

“She had long hair. She thought your letter was funny and that you weren’t being serious.”

“Oh yeah, she was _super_ cute.”

“There was the spider girl.”

“Probably the cutest one. Until she grew six extra legs.”

“Wait, Stan, you flirted with a spider girl?” Fiddleford asked. The twins and Fiddleford were walking through the forest, searching for magical creatures in the scrapbook. Apparently, there were unicorns somewhere. Which was why Fiddleford had agreed to come along. He was sticking very close to the twins, however, and kept getting startled by every other noise.

“Darlene,” Stan said wistfully. “Too bad she was a different species.”

“Hold on a second,” Ford said. He stopped walking to take out the scrapbook. Fiddleford walked into him. “Sorry, Fidds.”

“It’s okay. Ain’t a problem of any sort.” Ford flipped through the pages until he found the letter he was searching for.

“Here, look at this.”

“What is it?”

“A letter to M from someone called ‘Mermando’.”

“‘Mermando’?”

“Apparently, he’s a merman.”

“Never woulda guessed,” Fiddleford said drily, peering over Ford’s shoulder at the scrapbook.

“And you’re showing me this because…”

“Because it’s a love letter! M was in a romantic relationship with a merman!” Ford closed the scrapbook. “The whole ‘different species’ thing doesn’t matter! You could’ve dated that spider girl if you wanted.” Stan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Nah,” he said after a moment. “Spiders kinda creep me out, no matter how pretty the girl attached to them is.” He shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to keep flirting with random girls that stop by the gallery.”

“Please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just…don’t.”

“Like I’d listen to you about romance.” Stan poked his brother.

“Ow!”

“Anyways, how far to the unicorns?” Fiddleford asked.

“About thirty more minutes.”

“Good thing I’ve got plenty of energy!” Stan said, striding forward, his chest puffed out.

“Yeah, that thing you made this morning was, to be honest, scary.”

“What? No. It was like if coffee and nightmares had a baby, is all.”

“What did you make?” Fiddleford asked, intrigued.

“Something Juice.”

“‘Something Juice’?”

“Couldn’t read all of the title. Found the recipe in the scrapbook. So, if I turn into a fish later or something, that’s why.”

“Maybe you’ll turn into a spider. Then won’t feel weird about dating the spider girl.”

“If you say so, Sixer.”

 

“Ford, don’t push that button!” Dipper begged his great nephew. They were floating in zero gravity, the machine just about to go off. There didn’t seem to be any background noise, even though Ford could feel the roaring of the machine. All he could hear was his great uncle’s broken voice, pleading with him. Ford watched the countdown. 30…29…28…

_Why can’t I hear it beeping?_ he wondered. If it wasn’t for the countdown continuing, he could’ve sworn time had stood still.

“Why should I trust you?” he screamed in response. “You lied to us! For the entire summer!”

“Ford, listen to him!” Stan shouted. “Remember what M said. Trust your family!”

“Do we even know he’s our family?” Ford shot back. Stan’s face fell. “This machine could destroy the world!”

“For once, Sixer, don’t listen to your head! Listen to your heart!”

“Please, Ford.” Dipper’s voice was softer now. He was desperate. “Do I really seem like a bad person to you?” Ford clenched his eyes shut, tears threatening to fall. “You’re my family, and I love you. And all this lying, all of this law-breaking, all of the bad things I’ve ever done has been for family.” Ford’s hand hovered over the button. “Please. Trust me.” Ford let his body relax. He let go, floating upward.

“I- I trust you, Grunkle Dipper.” With a deafening whir, the machine finally turned on. There was a split second of weightlessness greater than the one they had just felt. Then they all crashed to the ground. They got to their feet slowly, groaning. 

Stan was the one that saw her. He gasped, staring at the wreckage of the machine. Out of the big glowing circle, a figure had emerged. She stepped forward and picked the scrapbook up off of the ground. Once she caught sight of Dipper, she smiled. Her dimples seemed familiar. 

“Who is that?” Ford asked. A grin to match hers spread across Dipper’s face.

“The maker of the scrapbooks. My sister, Mabel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was my own version of Inverse/Inverted Falls, which is basically Relativity Falls, but Mabel builds the portal, rather than Dipper. I definitely veered away from fanon, but I'm rather fond of my own interpretation of this AU. Let me know if you liked it!  
> As always, if you have any further questions, feel free to message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com, or leave a comment below. See you next time with a more recent AU that I fell in love with immediately.


	5. The Companions of Our Childhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ **The companions of our childhood** always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain.” – Mary Shelley, _Frankenstein_

**Date:** August 30, 1982  
**Dimension:** 1818-NDH  
**Location:** Gravity Falls Public Library, Gravity Falls, OR  
**Weather:** Storming

**Observations:**  
Yet another time jump. But this time, I seem to have landed back in my own appropriate decade. Here’s to hoping I can stay in the 80s for a little while. I’m quickly losing track of how much time I have spent wandering these alternate realities.  
I am in the Gravity Falls Public Library at this moment, because this universe’s version of Fiddleford just dropped off an abnormally large amount of books at the return desk. Before the librarian (a vicious old lady named Deborah) reshelved the books, I managed to grab one.  
\- Either I or Fiddleford recently read _Frankenstein_. _Frankenstein_ is one of my comfort novels. What was I doing that needed comfort from Mary Shelley?  
\- I caught a glimpse of the other books, which were primarily books on human anatomy, with focus on transplantation and methods to bring someone back from the brink of death, such as defibrillation  
\- There was also a book on necromancy  
\- The locals have said things which I overheard about the “mad scientist and his assistant in the woods”. I assume they are talking about myself and Fiddleford  
\- I left town a handful of months ago with a “crazy look” and a shovel in my trunk  
\- Stan mysteriously appeared in town, without anyone having seen him arrive  
\- He doesn’t seem to go into town very often, staying at my house for the most part. I can’t blame him. If I had scars like that, I would avoid going out in public, too  
\- This version of myself is rather...clingy with Stan. Like I worry about his health

**Conclusions:**  
Did I…did I bring Stan back to life somehow? In my reality, when we, for lack of a better term, parted ways, he seemed to be struggling to get by. Because of his life on the streets, it is a very real possibility that he was in danger from others. Perhaps that is how he died in this reality.  
No matter how he died, I can’t believe it! I resurrected someone! This is phenomenal. I simply must take a quick glance at the notes I wrote in this universe.

**Notes:**  
How did Stan die? Loan sharks? Sting gone wrong? Heartbroken ex-lover? Mafia hit?  
Stan has the distinctive scars from electrical shock. As such, I assume that Fiddleford and myself resurrected him the Mary Shelley way – lightning. Truly phenomenal.  
Judging by the book on necromancy, I must have studied other options for Stan’s resurrection. Were they unsuccessful? Or just too difficult?  
The fact that this version of myself appears to check Stan’s health almost constantly makes me wonder what sort of side effects resurrection has. Are they similar to side effects from electric shock?  
Was Stan in need of a transplant?  
Fiddleford didn’t leave in this reality. I wonder why. Also, a ponytail suits him.  
Where is Bill? He would have attempted to interfere with a resurrection, I know it.  
How did Dan know that I left town with a shovel in my trunk? Perhaps it’s just lumberjack intuitivism. 

\---

Stan stared at the weapon in his lap. It glinted, somehow menacingly, in the light that filtered through the closed window shades. The silver casing reflected a sickly shade of orange from the flickering neon motel sign.

_Should I do it outside or inside? It’s not like there’s a much better view if I kill myself under the stars. Can’t even see them. But would it be easier to kick the bucket listening to that damn sign buzzing, or to listen to the faucet dripping?_ He checked his watch.

“Shit.” Rico’s goons would be there any minute. 

_There’s no way in hell they’ll take me alive. It’s better to die because you shot the gun, than because someone else put a bullet in your skull._ Shaking, he picked up the gun and cocked it. He swallowed and put all his determination towards keeping his hands steady. 

Stan closed his eyes. Then he pulled the trigger.

 

Ford let the answering machine pick up the phone.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Stanford Pines. Please leave a message.”

“Hello, Mr. Pines, this is Amelia at the Palm Leaves Mortuary in Santa Fe.”

_A mortuary? Why would they be calling me?_

“We have a John Doe here without any identification, but he did have this phone number in his pocket. We were hoping you could-” Ford dropped the book he was holding and catapulted himself across the room, grabbing the phone from the receiver.

“Yes, hello, this is Stanford Pines.”

“Oh! Um, as I was saying, Mr. Pines, we were wondering if you could identify our John Doe.”

“Sure, sure! But, first, what does he look like?” 

“Heavy-set male, brown hair, large nose, square chin. A little under six feet tall.” The phone almost slid out of Ford’s hand. “Does that sound like anyone you know?”

“…Yes. Yes, it does. What was the address?” The woman dutifully recited it for him. “Thank you, I’ll- I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“We’ll see you then, sir.” Ford put the phone back on the receiver with shaking hands. He stumbled back, hitting a wall, then slid down it.

“Stan…” he whispered. He rubbed a hand across his face, remembering all the times the phone would ring, but whoever was on the other end would hang up. 

_How did he get my number?_ Ford knew the answer to that question. It was their mother, of course. She had never been very pleased with the way things happened the night Stan was kicked out. Tears began to fall. _Stan must have died thinking that I hated him. Hated him so much that I would have never helped him._

“I’m sorry, Stan.”

 

“I was wonderin’ when I’d hear from ya again, Stanford,” Fiddleford said. He seemed relieved when Ford had opened the door. “I was worried about ya. Losin’ a brother can’t be an easy thing to go through.” Ford gestured for his assistant to come in. Fiddleford obliged, continuing to talk as he did so. “I considered sendin’ flowers or somethin’, but I don’t know much about Judaism, and I didn’t know if that’s somethin’ your religion accepts.”

“I don’t really practice that much anyways,” Ford mumbled. “Fiddleford, I appreciate the concern, but that’s not the reason I asked you to come visit.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Please, follow me to the basement.” Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. “Trust, me, it will all make sense.” 

Fiddleford followed Ford to what had previously been their lab, where they worked on the portal. Now, there was a lone piece of furniture in the middle of the room. A table. With something on it, covered by a white sheet.

“I don’t have a good feelin’ about this,” Fiddleford muttered, walking up to the table with Ford. Ford pulled the sheet back. Fiddleford blanched and took a step back. “I was right to not have a good feelin’ about this.”

“This is my brother, Stan.”

“I figured as much! What did ya mean by ‘this will all make sense’? It doesn’t! Why did ya bring your dead twin brother’s body to Gravity Falls, instead of lettin’ him rest in peace?”

“He won’t be dead for much longer.”

“Stanford…” Fiddleford groaned.

“I’m going to bring him back. But I’ll need your help.” Ford clapped a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder.

“I- I don’t think I feel comfortable doin’ this.”

“It’s in your contract.”

“What?”

“‘Playing god and potentially grave-robbing’. Did you even read it?”

“Why did ya put that in my contract?”

“I had to be thorough.” Fiddleford looked away. “So, will you help me?”

“…Fine. But it’s only ‘cause he’s your brother.” Fiddleford looked at Stan’s body. “I’d do just about anythin’ for my family, too.”

 

“Ya know, he’s kinda cute for a dead guy.”

“Don’t be creepy, Fidds.” Fiddleford dropped the sheet back over Stan’s face. “We need to find a heart, for the transplant. His was destroyed by the bullet.”

“Where are we goin’ to get one of those?”

“The hospital, most likely.”

“We’re robbin’ hospitals now?”

“Well, the hospital will have all the information we need.” Ford sighed, the logistics of what he wanted to do hitting him. “It has to match his blood type, for one thing. And even then, transplants don’t always take…”

“Ford…”

“We’ll have to get some immunosuppressing medication, too, because otherwise his immune system will recognize the heart as being non-self and reject it. Or would the resurrection negate that? Either way, the hospital should have those, too.”

“Ford, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. This would go a lot easier if we had an actual biologist.”

“You don’t think we have the intelligence necessary?”

“I never said that! Ya majored in physics. I majored in engineerin’. I don’t know if we have the technical skills necessary to bring someone back to life.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Well, I know some biologists, from some top-notch schools. I even know some med students we could ask for help.”

“Can we trust them?”

“Of course!” Ford frowned and moved in close to Fiddleford’s face.

“Would you trust any of them with _your_ twin brother’s life?”

“…I don’t have a twin brother.”

“I’m just trying to make a point here.”

“I have a younger brother. And a younger sister.”

“Okay, and would you trust any of these biologists with their lives?”

“Maybe?”

“No outside sources, Fidds. We can’t risk people finding out. We can’t risk someone deciding to back out at the last minute and mess up everything. We don’t have any room for error.” Fiddleford sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“I’ll go get more books on human anatomy from the library, I guess.”

“Oh, and pick up a copy of _Frankenstein_ , would you?”

“Please tell me ya aren’t treatin’ Victor Frankenstein’s process like a recipe for resurrection.”

“No, it’s just one of my favorite books.”

“If ya say so.”

 

“It was a dark and stormy night…”

“It’s five in the mornin’, Stanford. Please, stop.” Fiddleford rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I get that you’re excited and all, but do ya have to be fake-dramatic about this?”

“We’re resurrecting someone, Fidds! You should be just as excited as I am!” Fiddleford pursed his lips. 

“I still don’t know if this was the right thing to do,” he muttered, putting on the rubber gloves Ford insisted he wear. Thunder boomed, shaking the house to its foundations, which they were in right now. “Back home we call this tornado-makin’ weather.” 

“It is very loud, isn’t it? This is perfect! We can harness the energy of the lightning and use it as an extra-powerful defibrillator.”

“I know, I know. You’ve been over it a million times.” Thunder pealed once more. “Good thing we’re in the basement. Protect us from the F5 outside.”

“Please, Fidds. This isn’t a tornado. It’s just a very powerful storm. Getting closer and closer.” 

“Are we doin’ this or can I go back to bed?”

“Relax, we have to wait for lightning to strike the rod I installed on the roof.” A bell began to ring. “That’s the notification! We’ve been struck! Pull the lever, Fidds!” Fiddleford rolled his eyes at Stanford’s dramatics. He slammed the lever down, and electricity ran along the wires they had attached to Stan’s body. The lights flickered. Ford rushed over to his brother’s side, getting out a stethoscope. But Fiddleford could tell it had worked. Stan’s arm, which was dangling over the edge of the table, was twitching.

“My stars,” Fiddleford whispered. Ford saw it, too.

“Holy shit. It- it worked? It worked!” He looked up, grinning manically. “Fidds, we did it! We brought someone back to life! We- oof!” With a scream, Stan had sat upright and punched his brother on the jaw. Stan looked around, clearly panicking. He began to shake. 

“Wh-where…”

“Stan, it’s okay.” Ford had recovered quickly and was hugging his brother. “It’s okay.”

“Sixer, what the hell is happening?” Stan tried to shove Ford off, but was too weak and shaken. 

“You- you died.”

“No shit, I died. I just don’t know why I’m all of a sudden in a fucking horror movie.”

“You’re not, you’re just…in a science fiction one.” Stan looked at his brother, comprehension dawning.

“You son of a bitch,” he whispered. “You brought me back to life.”

“Of course.” 

“Goddamn, I knew you were gonna be a mad scientist one day.” Fiddleford snorted quietly. Stan finally realized Ford wasn’t the only other person in the room. He gave Fiddleford a curt nod, then directed his attention back at his brother. “Where the fuck are my clothes?”

 

“So, did you grab the Stanleymobile?” Stan asked, frowning at the clothes Ford had bought him. 

“Yes. But it wasn’t easy. Apparently it was most recently registered under the name ‘Hal Forester’.” Ford and Stan were in the living room. Fiddleford had long since gone home, to go back to sleep.

“Heh. Yeah.” Stan slipped the white T-shirt on. “I’ve gone through a lot of names.”

“Why?”

“I keep getting banned from states. Did you know that was possible? To get banned from an entire state?”

“I was unaware of that.”

“Also, I keep getting targeted by loan sharks and mafia bosses and shit like that. But being dead means that I don’t need to worry about that anymore. So, thanks, Sixer.” Ford raised an eyebrow.

“I resurrected you and you thanked me for saving you from loan sharks?”

“One step at a time, man. I’m still wrapping my mind around you bringing me back to life. I mean, I knew you were smart. I just didn’t realize you were off the chart.” Stan joined Ford on the couch.

“It was difficult, to be sure. But Fiddleford was a big help.”

“Fiddleford? That’s the squirrely guy who assisted you, right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a weird-ass name.”

“Dad literally gave us the same name because we’re twins.” Stan snorted.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“I’m pleased that it took such a short time, though, even with Bill’s meddling,” Ford said.

“Who’s Bill? Is he the actual doctor that you hired to help out?”

“Hey! Fiddleford and myself are both doctors.”

“You know what I mean. A people doctor.” Ford sighed and stood up, facing away from his brother.

“No, Bill did not help us. He tried to prevent us from being successful.” Stan stretched himself out along the couch and put his hands behind his head.

“How?”

“For one thing, he almost succeeded in throwing away the hear we had selected for you. He also attempted to sabotage the machinery.” His voice became quieter. “Thank god Fiddleford stopped me in time.”

“Stopped you? Why would he stop you? I thought Bill was the guy that fucked shit up.” 

“That’s a bit of a long story, Stanley. And I- Stanley?” At the sound of a loud _thump_ , Ford turned around. Stan had fallen off the couch and was shaking. “Stanley!” He didn’t respond. Ford rushed to his brother’s side. “Oh god, no, please, Stanley, don’t go. Not now! I just got you back! I can’t lose you again!”

 

“I did what now?”

“You had a seizure.” Stan rubbed his forehead.

“Well, damn.”

“Actually, you had multiple seizures,” Fiddleford said, continuing to measure Stan’s vitals. “You were unconscious for days, occasionally seizing.” Stan shrugged.

“Better than being dead. Or coming back to life with no soul, or glowing eyes, or something.” He grinned at Ford. “Or you being a demon because you sold _your_ soul to bring me back.”

“Stanley, please take this seriously.”

“Hey, just because I’m not crying doesn’t mean I’m not worried.” Stan shrugged, interfering with Fiddleford’s attempts to measure his blood pressure. “It’s better to laugh off the pain than let it sit with you.”

“Please squeeze this,” Fiddleford said, handing Stan a stress ball.

“Uh, why?”

“I have to take a blood sample.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Fiddlenerd.” Stan grinned at Fiddleford. “Didya like that nickname? Fiddlenerd. See, it’s funny because you’re a nerd.”

“No, I get it,” Fiddleford said in a long-suffering tone. “Ford was difficult enough to handle, now I have to deal with his twin brother, too?” he muttered under his breath.

“Anyways, this is a nice kitchen you got here,” Stan continued, looking around the room. “If you ignore the weird goop on the walls and counters.”

“Yes, I haven’t cleaned the house in a while,” Ford said, “but I was busy resurrecting and taking care of you.”

“Hey, the guilt card ain’t gonna work on me. _You_ wanted to bring me back. I didn’t tell you to.” The stress ball burst in Stan’s hand. “Uh, is that supposed to happen?”

“No, but I’m done anyways,” Fiddleford replied. 

“Sweet.” Stan stood up and kicked the chair he had been sitting in away from him. It rocketed across the room and shattered against the wall. “What the fuck?”

“Could you do that before?” Ford asked.

“No. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said ‘what the fuck’.”

“Your muscles should be atrophied.”

“Speak English.”

“Weak from lack of use. Try to pick something heavy up.” Ford looked around at what was in the room. “Like…”

“Like this?” Ford looked back at his brother, who was holding Fiddleford up in the air with one hand.

“Put me down!”

“This is a side effect I was not expecting,” Ford muttered.

“Stanford, tell him to put me down!”

“I can hear you, toothpick man, don’t worry.” Stan set Fiddleford down carefully. 

“Frankenstein’s monster had superstrength. But I didn’t expect you to have superstrength, too.” Stan leaned against the counter.

“Being alive beats being dead. Being alive with superstrength sure as hell beats being dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the Frankenstan AU, created by the amazing artist arodudejude (arodudejude.tumblr.com), who was kind enough to give me permission to write something for his AU. Thanks again for letting me use your AU.  
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter! And as always, if you have any questions or comments, you can reach me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	6. Swear by the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Do not **swear by the moon** , for she changes constantly.” – William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

**Date:** September 5, 2012  
 **Dimension:** PGSM’91  
 **Location:** Backupsmore University, Peoria, IL  
 **Weather:** Sunny

**Observations:**  
This is my largest time jump yet. And I haven’t just arrived in a completely different decade, but I’ve arrived at my alma mater: Backupsmore University. In Illinois. How did I get here? I was not aware that my dimension hopping could result in differences in location, as well as time. This is troubling.  
I am currently hiding in the Backupsmore library, among the archives. In my reality, no one ever visited the archives. It holds true for this reality, as well.  
\- I have arrived in a reality in which its version of myself somehow has the ability to…fly  
\- Honestly, I’m embarrassed for this version of myself. And Fiddleford. And Stanley.  
\- Yet _another_ reality where the three of us are close friends. Why is this trait so consistent?  
\- Stan didn’t finish high school in my reality, but he must have in this one. Otherwise, even Backupsmore wouldn’t admit him.  
\- The fact that we are of college-age in 2012 is odd, but I have seen stranger things than simple temporal distortion  
\- I have caught glimpses of this reality’s version of myself up close. I have pierced ears.  
\- Stan wears an unfamiliar ring, and Fiddleford has a turquoise belt buckle that is _not_ his usual style  
\- Regardless, through the use of binoculars, I’ve noticed strange markings on these articles of jewelry, which resemble alchemical symbols, or astrological symbols, leading me to believe they may have some power

**Conclusions:**  
In this reality, it appears that I have found an item similar to the mystic amulet I documented in my second journal. And have used it to…become a superhero of sorts, perhaps. I’m not sure if I want to outright say my true conclusion. But when I return back home, I shall have to investigate both the mystic amulet and this “Sailor Moon” I have heard Stanley and Fiddleford mentioning.

**Notes:**  
The ear piercing job does not seem to be a professionally done one.  
The fact that the timeline is so “off” from mine suggests I may be moving further away from my home reality. This is very concerning.  
What would Stan major in? Even Backupsmore doesn’t offer a “conman/scam artist” degree.  
I certainly hope I return home before too much time has passed. 2012 is a very strange year, at least in this reality, and technology is vastly different than what I saw in my home reality and time.

\---

Stan rummaged in his pocket for a lighter. His fingers brushed up against something that was metal, but from the feel of it, sure as hell wouldn’t help him light his cigarette. He pulled the item out of his pocket.

“Is this a class ring?” he said out loud, turning it over in his hands. It was some sort of goldish metal, with a large red stone in it. And although it was the same style as a class ring, there wasn’t any sort of decoration with the year or extracurriculars along its sides.

_Whose is this? And how did it end up in my pocket?_ He looked at it a little bit longer, before shrugging and sliding it on his right hand. _It looks pretty damn nice on me, gotta admit._ He was a few steps away from the door when Ford called his name.

“Stan, are these yours?” Stan turned. Ford was holding out a pair of grey earrings.

“No. I have better taste than that.”

“Are they Carla’s, then? Maybe Susan’s?” Stan waved a hand.

“Please. All the girls I date have good taste in jewelry.”

“But, Stan-”

“Where did you find them, anyways?”

“On my desk, next to my fan.”

“Well, there you have it. It’s a sign.”

“Of what?”

“That you need to get your ears pierced. Of course, you’ll only be able to wear one at a time.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s only one gay ear.” Ford groaned. “Later, Sixer.” Stan finally left the dorm room he shared with Ford and made his way downstairs.

_The girl that lives across the hall, she’s got pierced ears. If Ford really wants to get rid of those earrings, maybe I can give them to her. I’ve been meaning to ask her out, anyway. But she wears better jewelry than those weird looking studs._ He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize it was raining until he walked outside and abruptly became soaked.

“Ah, shit!” He ran back inside.

“Forget yer umbrella, Stanley?” a southern voice asked him. Stan turned. Fiddleford was standing there, clearly ready to go into the downpour. He had a raincoat, rain boots, and an umbrella.

“Yeah. Looks like I’ve got two options. I can wait for the rain to die down a bit, or I can go smoke but get drenched in the meantime.”

“Or ya could quit those dang cigarettes.”

“Not gonna happen, Fiddlenerd.” Fiddleford shrugged.

“I tried.” He opened his umbrella. There was a clatter as something fell out of it and onto the floor.

“Uh, you dropped something,” Stan said. Fiddleford frowned.

“I didn’t put anythin’ in my umbrella. That ain’t a good place to store items.” He picked it up. “Especially turquoise belt buckles as nice as this.” 

“Well, looks like it’s yours now.” Fiddleford shook his head.

“It ain’t mine. I’ll turn it into the lost and found.”

“Suit yourself.” He decided to wait out the rain. As he watched Fiddleford leave, he shook his head. “Must be a good day for finding jewelry in weird places.” 

 

“Sixer, why are we here?” Stan asked loudly. This resulted in a large number of shushing from nearby library patrons. 

“I told you, Stanley. The earrings I found have strange markings on them. I need to figure out what they are.” Ford checked the poster on the wall which detailed which library floor had what book genres. “We’ll need to go to the fifth floor.”

“Okay, that’s why _you_ are here. Why am _I_ here?”

“You said you were bored and willing to go anywhere.”

“Anywhere but the library.”

“You didn’t specify that.” Stan groaned and followed his brother up the stairs.

“Ford, not everything is a goddamn conspiracy. Yeah, those earrings have markings on them. Is it really that important?” They arrived at the landing of the fifth floor.

“Well, I’ll find out. Mind grabbing a good spot at one of the tables?” Stan looked around. 

“There is literally no one else here.”

“Good, then there should be plenty of options.” Stan groaned again and selected a table hidden between two bookshelves. There were a few books left, from the last person to sit there. Stan picked one up.

“Sailor Moon? That’s that Japanese shit that Fiddleford watches, right?” With nothing better to do, he opened it. “What the fuck? It’s backwards.” He flipped through the pages idly. “These chicks are cute. Kinda ridiculous legs, though. And hair. And- wait.” He squinted at the pictures. “Where’ve I seen that before?” The book jolted in his hand as Ford dropped a thick stack of also thick books right in front of him. 

“Here are the most extensive books on symbology that I could find,” Ford said. He sat down and rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Now to do some research and figure out what the symbols mean.”

“Oh, they’re right here,” Stan said, pointing to one of the weird wands the girls with long legs held. Ford looked up. He grabbed the manga volume.

“Let me see that.” Ford’s eyes widened. “You’re right. Well, they’re almost the same. Not quite. But almost.” He handed the book back to Stan.

“Dammit, I was hoping I could show you up.” Ford raised an eyebrow and slid one of the books toward him.

“The night’s still young, Stanley. You could help me out.” Stan looked at the very thick volume. 

“Nah, I think I’ll take a nap or something. It’s warmer in here than the dorm room, anyways.” Ford shrugged and grabbed one of the books, titled _Alchemical and Astrological Symbology_. There was a puff of air and dust as he opened it. Stan snorted. “Looks like you’re the only one interested in that sort of thing. Or at least, the only one for a really long time.” Ford rolled his eyes and turned one of the yellowed pages.

“I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I am asleep. I’m just talking in my sleep.” Ford chuckled softly.

“Sure you are.”

 

“Stanley, wake up!” Someone shook Stan awake.

“Wha- huh?” Stan grunted, lifting his head. He squinted blearily at the two people sitting near him. “Fiddlenerd? When’d you get here?”

“About half an hour ago,” Fiddleford replied. “Stanford sent me a text sayin’ that he wanted my help with somethin’. Somethin’ to do with mysterious jewelry. An’ I told him ‘bout the belt buckle I found, and he insisted on seein’ it.”

“I’m not an expert on metallurgy,” Ford said, “but this belt buckle, the earrings, and your ring, Stan, seem to be of the same craftsmanship.”

“Maybe one of the girls crushing on me is leaving jewelry laying around,” Stan suggested. 

“That’s what I thought,” Ford said, nodding at him. “But then, while I was looking for more books, I found this one. Or rather, maybe it found me.” Stan rubbed his eyes.

“The fuck you talking about, Sixer?”

“I was running my hand along the shelf, and my hand stopped inexplicably at this particular book.” Ford slid the mentioned book to Stan. It was opened to a page with seven drawings on it. 

“That’s the ring I found.” Stan said.

“Exactly! And the earrings and belt buckle are also mentioned in this book,” Ford said enthusiastically. “Along with four other items of jewelry.”

“Okay, so where are the other four things, then?” Ford shrugged.

“Unsure. This book is strange. Large portions of it seem to be coded, and I don’t have time to decode all of it, what with the extra classes I’m taking.”

“That’s your own damn fault,” Stan said. Fiddleford took the book from Stan and began to flip through it. 

“Some of us want to actually succeed in life and get an appropriate job after graduation,” Ford retorted. 

“Yeah, like Fiddlenerd. He’s making himself pretty damn marketable, and he’s doing it without taking so many classes it needs special permission from the school.”

“He’s also one of the first people in his family to go to college. He’ll be marketable regardless of his grades, due to his childhood and background.” Stan turned to Fiddleford.

“Dude, are you listening to my brother talking shit about you?” Fiddleford’s brow was furrowed as he scanned a page. “Uh, Fiddleford?”

“This part ain’t in code,” Fiddleford said. Ford looked over. 

“It’s in Latin, though,” he pointed out.

“Not all of it. Just this part. Right before it, there’s a bit in English.” Stan picked up the Sailor Moon volume he had been skimming through earlier.

“Read it out loud, then.”

“The English part, or the Latin part?”

“Both,” Stan and Ford said together. 

“Okay, then.” Fiddleford squinted down at the page. “‘To release yer inner power and channel the might of the elements-’” Stan snorted. Fiddleford glared at him. “Do ya want to hear what it says or not?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll cut it out,” Stan replied, turning his attention back to his manga. 

“‘-you must say these words. Then, you will become something…more… and…’” Fiddleford frowned. “Is that ‘perversion’?” Ford looked down at the book.

“Seems like it.”

“It’s a weird sentence,” Fiddleford said, before continuing to read. “‘…and purify the perversion of the world.’”

“I don’t think I want this ring anymore,” Stan said idly. “Seems like the person that made it was a vanilla wimp.” 

“I don’t think ya can get rid of it, Stanley,” Fiddleford said. “I turned in that belt buckle earlier, and it just showed up in my rain boots a few minutes later.” 

“Dammit.” 

“Read the Latin part, Fiddleford,” Ford suggested.

“Why don’t you read it?”

“I hate to admit it, but my Latin isn’t as good as yours,” Ford said quietly. Stan gasped loudly.

“Someone stop the presses! You’re not perfect at something?” Stan shouted. 

“Stanley, this is a library!” Fiddleford hissed. “Stop bein’ so dramatic. Folks are tryin’ to study!” 

“My world has been rocked to its core,” Stan said, purposefully being more dramatic than before. “I don’t think I can take much more of this!” He stood up. “Later, nerds. I’m gonna go see if the cute chick, what’s her name, is interested in going to Alex’s. Happy hour starts early tonight.” Ford rolled his eyes.

“If you get lucky, let me know before you bring her back to our room.”

“That was one time.” Stan began to walk away. “See ya.” He heard Ford say something to Fiddleford.

“Wait, are you reading the Latin bit?” There was a strange, loud noise, and a bright flash of light. Stan turned around abruptly. He rushed back to where Fiddleford and Ford were sitting. 

“What the hell was…that…” Stan trailed off at the sight of Fiddleford, who seemed disoriented. Fiddleford blinked a couple times and then noticed how the Stans were staring at him.

“What are ya lookin’ at?” he asked. 

“Your- your clothes,” Ford stammered. Fiddleford looked down and yelped. 

“What is this?” 

“Wait, gimme a second!” Stan said excitedly. He snatched up the manga volume from earlier and showed it to Fiddleford. “Here you go.” Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“I am not a magical girl.”

“Never said you were. I said you were Sailor Moon.”

“Sailor Moon or not, I want my real clothes back! And my glasses!” Fiddleford looked around frantically. Suddenly, he froze.

“Fidds? What is it?” Ford asked, concerned. 

“I’m not colorblind,” Fiddleford whispered.

“What?” 

“I can see colors proper now.” Fiddleford shook himself vigorously. “Seein’ red an’ green can wait until after I’m back in my real clothes.”

“How do we do that?” Stan asked, looking down at the book about their weird jewelry. 

“We better figure it out quick. ‘Cause I ain’t walkin’ back to Turner Hall in this weird, poofy, blue thing.”

“You look like an old-timey sailor,” Stan said with a snicker.

“Just another reason why this is weird. I never even seen the ocean.” 

 

Fiddleford knocked on Stan and Ford’s door.

“Uh, who is it?” Stan’s voice asked.

“Fidds.”

“Come in,” Ford’s voice said. Fiddleford opened the door and walked into the room.

“I figured y’all might want to share some of the things my folks sent. My ma went on a cookin’ craze ‘cause all her kids are in college, so there’s a _lot_ of food in this here box and- dear lord!” He nearly dropped the box of cookies. “What’s goin’ on in here?” Ford was sitting on a chair, holding bloody tissues to his ears.

“Piercing Ford’s ears,” Stan replied. “So he can be a magical girl, too.” Stan rolled his eyes. “Weirdo.”

“Why didn’t you just go to a professional?” Fiddleford demanded, clearly upset. 

“What if one of the students sees me? In the labs I TA.”

“They’re goin’ to see yer pierced ears as it is, Stanford,” Fiddleford said shortly. 

“Oh.” Ford looked at Stan. “I don’t think we thought this through.” Stan laughed.

“I _never_ think things through.” 

“I finished decoding part of the book, by the way,” Ford said, trying to distract Fiddleford, who seemed to be getting angrier by the second. “And it looks like people are chosen. And have elementally-themed abilities.” Fiddleford sighed and leaned against the wall.

“Yer excited, huh?”

“To save the world? Yes!” 

“Save the world from what?” Stan asked, wiping down the needles he had used on Ford’s ears.

“I told you what the book said, Stanley. That a ‘great evil’ would appear, a ‘beast with one eye’.”

“What, like a pirate?” Stan said.

“The actual meaning is unclear,” Ford replied primly. “But it doesn’t matter, because we were chosen.”

“What about the other four people, then?” Fiddleford asked. 

“Come again?” Ford said.

“In the book, there were seven pieces of jewelry,” Fiddleford said. “There was the bracelet, the necklace, the hair clip, and the brooch.” Stan looked over at Fiddleford suspiciously. 

“How do you remember that?”

“Got a good memory.”

“Oh.” 

“Well, apparently, the wielders of these pieces of jewelry are chosen based upon personality. The bracelet will be someone down to earth and powerful. The necklace is for someone who is optimistic and trustworthy; a ray of sunshine. The hair clip goes to someone who is a firm believer in his…beliefs, and the brooch will be found by a person who is not only more clever than they appear, but a natural with machinery.”

“Wow, ya got a lot of decoding done,” Fiddleford said, impressed. He frowned. “How much did ya sleep last night?”

“Enough.”

“Stanford…”

“I got a solid four hours.”

“Stanford!”

“It’s better than he usually gets,” Stan grumbled. He took out his cellphone. “I’m gonna call that girl. But I better do it out in the hallway. I swear Ford gives off radio waves or something that keeps girls away.” Ford rolled his eyes. Before Stan opened the door, he stopped. “If there are four other people that we need to take down this ‘great evil beast’ or whatever, does that mean we’ll have to wait until they show up to actually get rid of it? Or will the beast wait until the others show up to have an awesome fight scene?” Ford took a breath.

“Given the nature of ‘beasts’, I’d say that we got a target on our backs the second we found these magical items,” Ford replied. Stan sighed.

“Great.” He paused. “Well, if you need me, I’ll be drinking and trying to ignore the fact that apparently a fucking ring is making me fight some scary monster pirate thing.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a magic ring led to a battle with an unimaginable evil,” Fiddleford said quietly. Stan turned to Fiddleford. 

“Was that a reference to something?”

“Yes.” Stan groaned loudly and left the room. Fiddleford and Ford could hear him muttering as he closed the door. 

“Fucking nerds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long hiatus, folks. My muse left this project and went to another one (my fic "Stanley McGucket": if you haven't checked it out, you should). But both my muse and I are back, and we bring with us an original AU. The Magical Girl AU. The name speaks for itself, honestly.   
> When will the next chapter go up? Who knows. But if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	7. Parting is All We Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ **Parting is all we know** of heaven/And all we need of hell.” – Emily Dickinson

**Date:** July 31, 2012  
**Dimension:** XI65  
**Location:** 618 Gopher Road, Gravity Falls, OR  
**Weather:** Stormy

**Observations:**  
I have to admit, I am amused that I arrived in a universe so different from the previous one I was in, yet the only difference time-wise is a handful of days. Upon my arrival, I knew immediately that this was not my reality: the natives of Gravity Falls referred to me as “strange scientist” or “Stanford”. In my own reality, only a handful of the townspeople of Gravity Falls actually know who I am, and they refer to me as “Dr. Pines”. “Boyish Dan” is not on a first-name basis with me, and neither are the Valentinos. 

…I have come to the realization that I should probably interact with people other than lumberjacks and funeral directors.  
\- My house remains unchanged in this reality, which came as an immense relief  
\- I see children running around the house occasionally. Grandchildren of mine?  
\- I seem far more paranoid in this reality, which is startling. To be frank, I was fairly paranoid to begin with.  
\- I am on remarkably good terms with Fiddleford; he appears to still be my assistant  
\- I have only caught rare glimpses of Stanley. He looks homeless, and is missing an arm.  
\- This reality’s version of myself does not have the embarrassing tattoo that I have  
\- However, Stanley has neck tattoos I have caught glimpses of. They are in languages not native to any human-dwelling dimension.  
\- I actually have had an encounter with this dimension’s Stanley. He was outside, and heard me moving nearby. Our eyes met. He merely shrugged and looked away, but there was something in his eyes that I recognized. I see it in the mirror. 

**Conclusions:**  
Stanley was the unfortunate soul to have fallen through the dimensional portal. That faint ghost of regret and fear is something one gets when looking upon the chaos dimension. There is no other way for Stan to have that look. 

**Notes:**  
Our fight must have played out immensely different in this reality, for him to have fallen through. Somehow, I had to have gotten the upper hand, or somehow turned the tables on him.  
I cannot help but feel sadness. Am I still angry at Stan and what he has done? Yes. But he had no clue of the horrors that awaited him on the other side of the portal. I did, and what I have seen still nearly destroyed me.  
The way that this reality’s Stanley looked at me though…I wonder if I have met him before, or if I _will_ meet him at some point.  
At least in this reality, we are both comforted by the two children running around the house. Their names are Mabel and Dipper, and I cannot help but feel a familial bond to them. Merely being in their proximity made my day brighter. 

\--- 

“You left me behind, you jerk! It was supposed to be us forever, you ruined my life!” Stan raged, attempting to rip the journal from Ford’s hands. 

“You ruined your own life!” Ford shouted back, kicking him into the chest. Stan landed against the control panel and screamed. Ford heard a sizzle. 

_Oh no, the brand!_

“Stanley! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you all-” His sentence was cut off by a punch to the face. Ford stayed on his feet, but barely. He walked backward, Stan pointedly advancing on him. 

“Some brother you turned out to be. You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family? Well then, you can have them!” Stan made as if he was about to leap at Ford. Ford ducked. His twin jumped- and was caught by the immense pull of the portal. “Whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” Ford attempted to follow. 

“Stanley, I- I can save you, just grab my hand!” He reached out a hand. Stan continued to fight against the portal’s pull fruitlessly. 

“Help me, Sixer! Please!” Stan shouted. Ford continued to try to get a hold of his brother, but Stan was halfway through the portal already. In what appeared to be a last-ditch attempt to do _something_ , Stan threw the journal at Ford, who caught it. There was a shudder and a flash of light. 

Stanford was alone. 

 

“No, of _course_ I’ll let your children spend the summer with me,” Ford grumbled to himself as he took yet another pile of old equipment into the elevator. “I would _love_ to watch two twelve-year-olds in what is quite possibly the most dangerous town in the world. There is _nothing_ I can think of that would be more pleasant or enjoyable.” The elevator doors dinged and Ford exited. “ _Why did I say that?!_ I have research to do, and watching two children will make it difficult for me to do it!” He flicked on the lights. 

Like always, he was standing in the shadow of the derelict portal. The location of the light switch, which he had added after years of complaints from Fiddleford, was poorly chosen. 

_All it does is remind me of my biggest mistake. My biggest regret._ Ford swallowed and looked at the portal. _If I want to bring him back, it would be as easy as turning it on._ His heart began to race at the thought of seeing Stanley again. But it came to a sudden stop, as he remembered why he had spent thirty years choosing to leave the mechanical monster in his basement alone. 

_Bill…_ The haunting laughter echoed inside his head. Even though he knew there was no possible way for Bill to enter his mind anymore, Ford’s heartrate sped up again. 

_I can’t bring him back. What is one man, versus an entire universe?_ Ford dropped the bag of equipment roughly on the floor. He flipped the light switch again, and blessed darkness fell. As he turned his back on the machine, he murmured an apology to his long-lost twin. 

“I’m sorry, Stanley.” 

 

“Your name is Norman, is that correct?” Ford asked. The “teenager” standing next to Mabel nodded roughly. “Hmm, that is quite clever,” Ford muttered. He reached out and pulled the zipper down on “Norman’s” jacket, exposing the gnomes stacked on top of each other. Mabel’s mouth dropped open. 

“Uh, surprise?” the topmost gnome said hesitantly. 

“Leave, before I get the broom,” Ford said. The gnomes broke apart their human facsimile and ran outside, into the forest. 

_Blasted creatures. Quite possibly the most annoying of all I’ve seen here in Gravity Falls._

“Oh, poo,” Mabel said, clearly disappointed. “I finally get a date and he turns out to be gnomes? What kinda luck is that?” Ford smiled at his niece. 

“It’s okay, Mabel. Next time, it’ll be a human.” 

“Or a vampire!” she said rapturously. Ford frowned. 

“I would not recommend a vampire,” he said slowly. “In fact, in my experience, any being that could be classified as ‘undead’ makes for poor significant others.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes. Perhaps a merman? I’ve seen a few here and there, and given that you live in California, long-distance wouldn’t be an issue.” Mabel gasped, her eyes starry. 

“Really?! Do you have any phone numbers I can use?” 

“I’ve only met a handful of merfolk, and none of them used cellphones.” His niece grinned at him. 

“Is that ‘cause they used…shell-phones?” she said, clearly trying to hold back her laughter. Swayed by her enthusiasm, Ford cracked a smile. Mabel walked away, laughing loudly at her own joke. Ford chuckled softly. 

_That sounds like a joke Stanley would make. She reminds me so much of him._

“Great Uncle Ford?” Ford turned around at the sound of Dipper’s voice. Dipper was standing before him nervously, a large book in his hands. A book that, with a sinking feeling, Ford recognized. 

“What is it, my boy?” 

“Well, I found this book in the woods,” Dipper started nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. 

_Are children supposed to sweat as much as he does?_

“And I wondered if you might know anything about it,” Dipper continued. “I mean, you do research on all the weird stuff here, and this has your hand on the cover, right?” 

“Whoa, wait Dipper,” Mabel said, suddenly appearing by her twin’s side. 

_She moves quickly._

“Are you saying that Great Uncle Ford wrote this nerd journal?” she asked. She looked up at Ford. “Did you?” Ford quickly grabbed the journal out of Dipper’s hands. He stroked the cover, memories resurfacing of his poor choices since his arrival in Gravity Falls. 

“Yes, I did,” Ford replied. He gripped the book tightly. “I don’t want either of you using this to put yourself into danger, do you understand? I’m confiscating this. You don’t need the same burden of knowledge I have.” Dipper and Mabel exchanged a confused look. Ford turned away from them. “Now, go play outside, like children do. I have much research, and cannot be distracted.” 

 

“Please, Mabel! Turn it off!” Ford shouted at his niece. Her hand was hovering over the emergency shutdown button, and all he wanted was for her to slam it down. 

_I’ve made too many mistakes already! Don’t let me bring about the end of the world merely because I missed my brother!_

“Don’t listen to him, Mabel!” Dipper yelled. Mabel looked back and forth between the two of them. 

“Why did you even have this turned on, if you wanted to shut it off anyways?” she asked Ford, her voice struggling to get heard over the hum of the portal. 

“I had a moment of weakness. I thought- I thought that I could risk this dimension to bring someone back. But I can’t! Too many lives could be lost!” 

“‘Could’?” Mabel repeated. Ford saw his mistake. 

“Will! Too many lives _will_ be lost!” But it was too late. Mabel, in her trusting, giving nature, had elected to leave the portal on. He watched his niece rise in the antigravity, framed by the portal, resembling an eerily beautiful painting. 

_Of course she would do something like that! She_ would _risk everything to save one person. She’s like Stan…too much like him._ The countdown finished, and the portal turned on. There was a blindingly white flash of light. 

After the light had faded, everyone slowly got to their feet, groaning. Ford’s heart stopped at the sight of the figure standing before him. The man slowly lowered the scarf obscuring his face. He had a beard, and had finally cut his hair to a proper length, but Ford would recognize him anywhere. 

“Stanley,” Ford breathed. Stan grinned, a smile taking up his entire face. He moved forward quickly and wrapped Ford in a one-armed bear hug. 

_One-armed?_ Stan broke off the hug and took a step back, looking his brother up and down. 

“Stanford, you did it!” he said. Ford suddenly focused on Stan’s arm. Or rather, what was left of it. 

_If I had turned on the portal sooner, would he have returned whole?_ Stan continued to speak. 

“I knew you would! I know you would bring me back!” Stan looked at Ford eagerly. His face fell as he recognized Ford’s lack of response. “You- you didn’t, did you?” he asked softly. “You weren’t the one that brought me back.” 

“I-” Ford began. Stan looked away in disgust. 

“Of course you didn’t. Why? Why didn’t you want to bring me back?” 

“Stanley, I did want to bring you back. But I couldn’t!” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes! If I brought you back, then this entire dimension could be at risk!” 

“Well, if the tables were turned, you know what I’d do?” Stan said bitterly. “I’d take that risk. I’d do anything to bring my brother back. I can’t believe you wouldn’t do the same for me.” 

“Stanley-” 

“So who did bring me back, then?” Stan asked, speaking over Ford. 

“Us!” Mabel said cheerfully, walking toward the bickering brothers. “Me and Dipper did.” 

“Uh-huh? And what’s your name?” Stan asked, kneeling until he was at Mabel’s eye-height. 

“Mabel. Ford is my great uncle.” 

“Then that makes me your great uncle too. Shermie’s grandkids, right?” 

“Yep!” Mabel said happily. Stan grinned at her. 

“I’d shake your hand, but I don’t have much _left_ ,” he said, waggling what remained of his left arm. Mabel’s jaw dropped in excitement. 

“You tell jokes!” 

“You bet I do.” 

“What’s your name?” Dipper asked, approaching Stan. 

“Ford wants you to call him ‘Great Uncle’, right? Then call me… _Grunkle_ Stan.” Stan winked at Dipper. “It’s shorter, so it saves time. And time’s money, so it saves that, too.” Ford could see Stan’s innate charm beginning to work on Dipper. 

“Stan,” Ford said, desperate to get back in his twin’s favor, “do you want me to build you a mechanical arm? To replace what you lost?” Stan stood slowly and looked at Ford. 

“No,” he replied, frost in every syllable. “I don’t need anything from you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally meant for this to be Day 5 of NaNoWriMo, but yesterday my muse chose to not cooperate, so here it is, a day late. This AU is the Reverse Portal AU, created by busket (busket.tumblr.com.).  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	8. What I Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I try all things, I achieve **what I can**.” – Herman Melville, _Moby Dick_

**Date:** February 17, 1994  
**Dimension:** ML’59  
**Location:** Gravity Falls, OR  
**Weather:** Snowing

**Observations:**  
I arrived in this reality on a cold winter’s day, in the midst of a blizzard. It was reminiscent of the day I departed from my own home, which lent credence to my immediate assumption. I thought that I was home. I searched for days to find evidence that I was not yet home, and came up empty-handed. 

If this had been my home reality, I would not have been surprised.  
\- I have but a rough approximation of the true amount of time that has passed during my travels, but it amounts to six years  
\- Stanley has taken over the house, like in countless other universes, and renamed it the “Mystery Shack”; a career that suits his conman tendencies  
\- He interacts with the marvelous flora and fauna of Gravity Falls in a manner I would expect. Namely, chasing most of it away with a broom.  
\- However, there is one creature he keeps around the house: a strange, black dog  
\- After a few glances into a window, I found out that Stanley is keeping a record of his time in Gravity Falls  
\- I did puzzle over the fact that, if I had returned to my home reality, Stan would not be spending ceaseless hours slaving on the portal  
\- This led me to continue searching for clues, which led to the one thing I have seen that is different  
\- This Stanleymobile, Stan’s pride and joy, has a different registration number than the Stanleymobile in my reality

**Conclusions:**  
I have arrived in an alternate reality so similar to my own, I had to outright seek details that proved it wasn’t, and nearly came up blank. This reality, where Stanley apparently picks up the torch I dropped and documents the weirdness of Gravity Falls, is near-identical to mine. Given that realities decrease in similarities that further apart they are, it has led me to believe that I will arrive home soon!

**Notes:**  
Why has Stan allowed a Grim to live in the house with him? Hasn’t he read the entry on it in Journal 1?  
I have to admit, I am flattered that Stanley decided to follow in my footsteps. I hope that his journal entries will be data for this reality’s Ford, when he returns.  
Given this universe’s similarity to mine, I wonder if the same events are happening back home. Does Stan keep a journal of his own? Does he open up a “Mystery Shack” (which seems to almost be a universal constant)? Does he adopt a Grim?  
I shall have to ask him upon my return.

\---

Stan picked up the empty journal he had found in the closet. There wasn’t the same hand symbol on it, and the pages were blank, so he felt confident that he could take this without fucking over his brother’s research. He set it down at the desk and took a seat, then picked up a pen. 

Not one of the weird feather things Ford used for some reason, an actual pen. He flipped the journal open, to the first page. Something about the blankness seemed reassuring, comforting. Stan had always enjoyed taking something spotless and making it anything but that. With a slightly shaking hand, he put the tip of the pen onto the page and began to write. 

_I don’t know why I’m doing this. Never been a good writer. Never been a good…anything really. Can’t spell worth a damn. But I was reading through Ford’s journal, and, I dunno, I thought that maybe I should keep track of what happens, too._

_Okay, I didn’t think of it right away. I only thought of it after I caught one of those fucking gnomes in the bathroom. Creepy little bastard. Don’t know if I can use the tub again after what he did. Squirrels don’t belong in there!_

_…_

_What do I even write? The weather? It’s cold as balls out right now. Snowed yesterday._

_…_

_…Saw a dog when it was snowing. Was following this lumberjack guy. Lumberjack guy didn’t seem to notice it. Which makes sense I guess. The dog was kinda blurry, blended in with the snow and darkness._

_I kinda liked it. I miss having a pet. All I’ve ever had was that fish I won at the Jersey Shore one  
summer. Named it Whiskers. _

_I was a smart-ass kid. Ford pointed out that some fish have whiskers. I told him that this kind doesn’t. He still didn’t think it was as ironic as it coulda been._

_God, I miss him._

_I miss my brother._

_I ran out of money. I’m sorry, Sixer. I didn’t have any other option. Your house is a tourist trap now._

_Congratulations._

_Saw another of those fucking GNOMES today. Tried to carry off one of the weird crystal pyramids I’ve seen around this creepy-ass house. I let him take it. Something about those things seems…off. Gives me the heebie-jeebies._

_By “those things” I mean the gnomes AND the crystal pyramids. Honestly, both can go fuck off. If they can’t be used to bring Ford back, I ain’t interested._

_I went for a hike to clear my head. When I got back, I saw that dog again, sniffing around the house. Left a bowl of water and kibble on the back porch for it. But while I was in the forest, I kept feeling like something was watching me. Every time I turned around, there was nothing there. I heard it, though. Sounded sorta like maracas. Maybe the lumberjacks know what’s going on. That big guy seems like he’s seen some shit. I could ask him._

_Will I? Who knows. Not me._

_…_

_I think I’d really like having that dog around. Keep me from losing my sanity, maybe. Or it might make it worse. Next thing, I’ll be talking to a dog._

_Better than talking to my reflection, though, I suppose._

_I’m pissed at myself AND this journal. I actually started looking FORWARD to writing in this thing. God, I need a life. Or I’ll end up like Ford._

_Shit._

_…_

_Anyways, I talked to that big lumberjack, Dan, the manliest looking guy I’ve ever met. Nice guy. Loud. Really loud. He and his wife are having a kid soon. Heh. Reminded me of that pregnancy scare I had with Carla way back when._

_Dan said he knew what I was talking about. Called it the “Hide-Behind”. He and the other lumberjacks believe in it, but no one else does._

_Well, except for me._

_Maybe I should take a page outta Ford’s book and look for it. Write about it in here. Nothing about the “Hide-Behind” in the journal he threw at me._

_On my way back from Dan’s, the weird black dog joined me. It followed me back here, and whined at the door, even though I was holding it open. I had to invite it in before it would go inside. Really hope it’s not a vampire dog or something._

_That’s vampires, right? The ones that you need to invite in?_

_I wonder if Ford wrote anything about vampires in one of the missing journals._

_I probably shoulda been writing the dates or whatever in this thing. Whoops._

_Some weird tree thing tried to take the Stanleymobile today. I got pissed and yelled until it dropped her. Nothing touches the Stanleymobile. Nothing._

_Other than what I run her into every now and then._

_Don’t know what the hell that tree thing was, though. It was huge, and I saw its foot and its hand. Didn’t see its face. But it seemed like a Steve to me. Maybe I should call it that. Steve._

_The dog started sleeping in bed with me. Sometimes it seems like it’s barely there, like a mist or gas or something. It hasn’t tried to suck my blood or turned into a bat or whatever, so it’s probably not a vampire dog. Every now and then, it disappears for a bit, before showing up at the Shack again, scratching at the door._

_I went out and bought a collar for it. Put “Grim” on the name tag. It’s a happy dog, but somehow “Grim” seems right._

_…_

_“Grim” and “Steve”._

_Naming ain’t my strong suit._

_Just ask Whiskers._

_Good God, I swear, everywhere I look in this damn town, there’s another weirdo I haven’t seen before. Today, I was walking Grim in the forest, when I heard someone following me. I turned around, and it was some creep in a red robe! What is this bullshit? Before I could tell this cult person to leave me the fuck alone, he spoke to me._

_“It is unseen.” Grim barked at him._

_“What’s unseen?” I asked him. The guy just sorta waved a hand vaguely and then turned tail and ran away. The symbol on the robes looked familiar to me, but I didn’t realize what it was until I went into town._

_That damn symbol is spray-painted everywhere! How come no one else notices it? Who the hell are these people?_

_Grim led me to the dump today. Still don’t know why. The only person there was Old Man McGucket. I gotta admit, I feel bad for the guy. Where’s his family? Why aren’t they taking care of him? I mean, he’s got a lotta screws loose, but he’s still a person. My folks didn’t abandon Auntie Rita when she lost her marbles._

_Maybe I’m just seeing things in him that I see in me. What’s that called? Projecting, I think._

_Kinda sucks that no one came to my funeral. Not even mom._

_Whatever. Can’t focus on that. The thing in the basement is still kicking my ass every night. How the hell did Ford come up with it? He’s a genius, but he HAD to have had help with it. Who helped him, and how can I get them to help me?_

_I thought I saw that weird eye symbol near the dump. Maybe I should check it out again, see what that’s all about._

_While I do that, maybe I can leave some food for Old Man McGucket. I’m not a nice person, but I’m not a COMPLETE asshole. Especially not to homeless people._

_God knows I remember what that was like._

_Remember that kid I hired a while back? Soos? Everybody thought I was crazy for hiring someone who hadn’t even hit puberty yet._

_They were wrong._

_Soos works on the Shack harder than I do. If he was helping me with the portal, Ford would probably be back in a coupla months, tops. But I can’t get him involved. I don’t know what sorta shady shit made Ford so paranoid, but I can’t drag a kid into it. He’s already being raised by his grandma._

_Okay, maybe I’m fond of the kid._

_Maybe I offered to give him boxing lessons._

_Maybe he failed so miserably at first that I had to comfort him._

_But he’s getting better. Smart kid, fast learner. Can’t believe how well the Shack is running now that he works here._

_I heard the guy I canned is a cop now. Seems like a good time to be a criminal, if someone as incompetent as THAT is wielding a nightstick._

_…_

_More proof that Soos is a good kid. Grim likes him. Soos doesn’t think there’s anything weird about Grim. One of us is wrong. Don’t know which one._

_My niece and nephew have been staying at the Shack for a month now. It’s getting tough to hide the weirdness of Gravity Falls from them. Dipper’s too damn sharp and Mabel’s too damn happy. Not a good combo. They’d walk right into danger and try to braid its hair._

_Well, Mabel would. Dipper would just interview the danger._

_Dipper’s convinced that Grim is an actual “grim”, which is some sorta “death omen”. That kid’s got weird ideas. Smart, though._

_Mabel’s just happy to pet a dog. She wouldn’t care if it was a vampire dog, like I thought it was at first. As long as it’s got fur and barks, she’s satisfied._

_I’m doing my best to keep them safe, but I won’t be able to for much longer. I got Journal 2 from that punk Gideon the other day. I’m almost done. I can bring Ford back soon._

_I don’t know what I’ll tell the kids. I don’t want to let them know that everything I said was a lie._

_But I can’t keep it a secret much longer._

“Grunkle Stan?” Stan looked up from his journal.

“What is it, kids?” he asked. Dipper and Mabel looked at each other, slightly nervous, but also slightly confident. 

“Grunkle Stan, at the beginning of the summer, we found something in the woods,” Mabel said. 

“Well, I found it,” Dipper said. Mabel nudged him. “The thing we found, it’s what Gideon was after. He went after the Shack so that he could get it.”

“And because he basically destroyed this whole place to get his creepy little hands on it, we thought we should tell you,” Mabel continued. She looked at her brother expectantly. Dipper reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a heavy book. He handed it to Stan. 

“What is this?” Stan asked.

But he knew exactly what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this AU isn't the most AU of AUs, which is why I saved it for the middle. It's the Journal of Missing Links (JoML)/Grim AU, created by notllorstel (notllorstel.tumblr.com).  
> I'm going to try to update this fic regularly, and get it done by the end of the year, so expect some more chapters coming your way soon.  
> Also, if anyone is interested in watching me write and chatting with me, I do live streams every now and then on picarto (https://picarto.tv/TheLastSpeecher). If you wanna stop by sometime, I'd love to have you. Of course, I don't have a regular streaming schedule...That's neither here nor there.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	9. Your Fellow Creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There is no happiness like that of being loved by **your fellow creatures** , and feeling that your presence is an addition to their comfort.” – Charlotte Brontë, _Jane Eyre_

**Date:** August 2, 2012  
**Dimension:** 522-C/B  
**Location:** The Gravity Falls Library, Gravity Falls, OR  
**Weather:** Partly cloudy

 **Observations:**  
In most homelike realities, I seek shelter somewhere the people of Gravity Falls consider too dangerous to venture into. This is typically the Gravity Falls Woods; there are places there even the lumberjacks refuse to visit. I made this option upon my arrival here as well. However, I quickly learned that the members of this reality do not hesitate to hike into the strange forests. So I have set myself up in the library. No one in Gravity Falls comes here of their own accord.

This reality is quite possibly the easiest one that I have interpreted. Here are my observations:  
\- Upon my arrival, I ducked into the woods, as I heard my own voice speaking. There were far more magical creatures in the woods than usual, which is saying something.  
\- A few of the magical creatures I crossed paths with (without them knowing I was there, of course) complained loudly to each other about “how much they hate being monsters”. This seemed strange.  
\- I saw footprints that were undoubtedly those of a cervitaur, which is not a native creature to Gravity Falls  
\- Some of the creatures I overheard mentioned gorgons (found only in Greece), mermaids (found only in saltwater; and Gravity Falls is miles away from the nearest ocean), and many other magical beings that, like the cervitaur, should _not_ be found in Gravity Falls.  
\- I eventually made my way to the stream that locals avoid, and found evidence of many people visiting it  
\- Locals would only venture near the water if they did not fear it anymore, which would be a result of only a few sets of circumstance  
\- There was a sign posted nearby that claimed the stream was being fed into the Gravity Falls water supply  
\- Upon my escaping the forest to hide in town, I saw many people I had recognized who had…changed

 **Conclusions:**  
Incredible! One of my greatest failures was my inability to determine what the _Fluvius Cantatis_ does. I feel confident to state that I now know. The _Fluvius Cantatis_ has magical waters that turn normal humans into magical creatures, based upon personality. Unfortunately, this reality’s version of myself also fell victim. This is unsurprising; there is only so long one can avoid a town’s water supply. The entire town of Gravity Falls has been turned into magical creatures!

 **Notes:**  
I determined that it is based upon personality after noting that Stanley was turned to a gargoyle (stubborn), myself to a sphinx (arguably the most intellectual of magical creatures), and “Boyish” Dan Corduroy to a sasquatch (the original mountain men). A small sample size, to be sure, but I can’t say that I recall many of the locals’ personalities very well beyond Dan’s. He has an incredibly…memorable one.  
If this is like many realities and Stan has been left in charge of children (which, from what I have observed, appears to be the case), I wonder what he will tell their parents. I would like to be there and see him attempt to con his way out of that particular situation.  
I have to wonder who cleared the work order to direct _Fluvius Cantatis_ into the water supply. The locals fear this stream immensely.  
In fact, even though the locals clearly visit the stream now (now that they know what it does and that it can no longer harm them), I saw offerings nearby, to appease the “evil spirits” many believe frequent the _Fluvius Cantatis_.  
Part of me wishes to introduce myself to the members of this reality, merely for the chance to study magical creatures I have never seen before. The other part of me recognizes that this is a bad idea. Gravity Falls was full of townsfolk unfriendly to out-of-towners _before_ they grew extra teeth and claws. 

\---

“I dunno about this, Blubbs,” Deputy Durland said nervously. “I’ve heard all sorts of spooky stories about that creek. Should it really go in the water supply?”

“Durland, we’re in a drought. It’s this or draining the pool,” Blubbs replied.

“Not the pool!”

“Then we’ve made our decision.” Sheriff Blubbs signed off on the work order.

 

Dipper followed Stan deeper into the woods.

“Why are we doing this again?” he asked his grunkle.

“We’re in a drought, kid. Suckers’ll pay top dollar to get fresh water. And the Mystery Shack is here for those dollars.” Stan stopped and frowned. “Now, where is it? Coulda sworn it was around here somewhere.” He wandered off the path. “Ah-ha! Found it! Dipper, bring the water bottles.” With a sigh, Dipper walked after Stan. When he emerged from the brush, he saw Stan kneeling next to a crystal clear, bubbling stream.

_It looks familiar…_

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “Something about the stream seems…magic.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“There you go with that nonsense again. Look, kid, if it wasn’t safe, the city wouldn’t be about to use it for the water supply, would it?” Stan gestured at a nearby sign that said “No Trespassing: Gravity Falls Town Water Supply Source”. 

“Well, no, but…”

“Chill, kid, it’s _fine_. Now, are you gonna help me fill these up or not?”

Half an hour later, Dipper and Stan walked into the Shack, both soaking wet. 

“Whoa, what happened to you guys?” Wendy asked, looking up from her magazine. 

“I fell into the stream, and Grunkle Stan laughed so hard, he slipped and fell in, too,” Dipper replied, wringing out his dripping hat. 

“That. Is. Hilarious,” Wendy said.

“Eh,” Stan grunted. He exited the gift shop to go to his room and change. Every step squelched. “Someone mop up!” he shouted once he was out of sight. 

“On it, Mr. Pines!” Soos said, rushing to get the mop and knocking over several displays in the process. 

“I’m gonna go dry off,” Dipper said. He set the bag of filled water bottles on the counter. After he left, Wendy opened the bag.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said as she selected the one with the least amount of mud on it.

Wendy, Mabel, and Soos had each drunk a bottle a piece when Dipper rushed into the gift shop.

“Don’t drink the water!” he shouted. Soos instinctively dropped his empty water bottle.

“Why not?” Mabel asked. She gasped. “Is it _poison_?"

“No, worse than that! It’s magic!” Dipper took out the Journal and flipped to a specific page. He began to read. “‘The _Fluvius Cantatis_ is a stream in the Gravity Falls woods that appears harmless at first. However, secrets dwell in its placid waters. The locals have many legends that originate from the stream and appear to avoid it, without knowing that is what they are doing.’”

“Wait, this is from that ghost stream?” Wendy interrupted.

“‘Ghost stream’?” Mabel asked.

“Yeah. That’s what my dad always called it, anyways. He said it was haunted by evil spirits, and to not play near it. Otherwise, they would _pull you in_.” She said the last sentence with relish.

“Abuelita always said that the stream was where chupacabras live,” Soos put in.

“Then which is true?” Mabel asked. Wendy and Soos shrugged.

“What does the Journal say?” Wendy asked Dipper. He turned the page.

“The Author could never figure it out,” he replied. But even though he didn’t know what it did, he made sure to say to never touch or drink it.” He showed the others the page. “See?”

“Wow, bolded _and_ underlined. This guy was serious,” Wendy remarked.

“So what do we do?” Soos asked. They all looked at each other.

“Well, _I’m_ gonna keep being awesome,” Mabel said, jumping off the counter.  
“Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it doesn’t do anything,” Soos suggested. Dipper nodded hopefully.  
“That’s the best case scenario. Because otherwise, the whole town is gonna get a big dose of magic.”

 

Dipper woke up just as the sun began to filter weakly into the attic bedroom.

_Why am I up so early?_ He stretched his arms, yawned, and flicked his ears. _Wait, what?!_ Dipper got out of bed, to find a mirror he could look in. Or at least, he tried to get out of bed. He fell out, tangled in a mass of blankets. The resultant ruckus woke up Mabel, who looked over at him.

“You okay there, bro-bro?” she asked sleepily, watching Dipper fight free of the blankets. Her eyes widened once Dipper was no longer covered. “Legs!” she shouted, suddenly wide awake. “Legs! Too many legs!” Dipper looked at his legs. He bleated in panic and tried to scramble away, but couldn’t; he was attached to what had frightened him. From the waist down, his body was that of a fawn.

“What- how-” Dipper looked at his sister. Her horrified look had been replaced by an amused one.

“You made a noise like a baby deer,” Mabel cooed.

“Mabel, don’t act like this is cute or whatever,” Dipper said. 

“Oh, but it is, bro-bro. You’re part baby deer!” She gasped. “Is that what the magic stream does?” Dipper face-palmed.

“Of course! The Author mentioned that some of the stream’s legends included tales of half-human, half-animal beings.” Mabel hopped off her bed and walked over to stare intently at Dipper’s ears. 

“You’ve even got cute fuzzy ears!” she squealed. Dipper slapped her hand away before she could pet him. 

“We need to find Grunkle Stan. Who know what his reaction’s gonna be? He doesn’t even believe in magic, remember?” There was a cacophony from downstairs. 

“Sounds like he’s up,” Mabel remarked. She watched her brother struggle to stand. “Can deer even go down stairs?” she wondered out loud.

“Not helping!” 

“Okay, what if I carry you?” she suggested.

“Are you really strong enough?”

“Sure!” Mabel picked Dipper up. “You’re lighter than usual,” she said as she carried him downstairs. “How is that possible? You have twice as many legs.”

“It’s magic,” Dipper grumbled. “Don’t question it.” At the base of the stairs, Dipper broke free from his sister’s grip and landed spread-eagled on the floor. After a few false starts he managed to stand successfully. Mabel gave him a thumbs-up. “All right, let’s go find Stan.” The two of them set off in the direction of Stan’s bedroom. They didn’t get very far. A large stone…something was blocking the hallway. “Uhh…” Dipper said nervously. The stone something turned around. “Grunkle Stan?!” Dipper asked, recognizing him.

“Kids! Ah, crap, you got messed with too, didn’t you?” Stan rumbled. 

“Not me!” Mabel said cheerfully. 

“Not _yet_ ,” Dipper reminded her. “So, uh, Grunkle Stan, at least you can’t say magic isn’t real anymore, right?” Stan sighed.

“Kid, I’ve always known.” Dipper stared.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. 

“I’m not an idiot, Dipper! Of course this town is weird. And I don’t know much about that weirdness, but I know it’s dangerous. That’s why I lied. To protect you.” He gestured at his half-deer nephew. “I obviously didn’t lie well enough.”

“So, Dipper is a deer centaur,” Mabel said, abruptly changing the topic. “What are you, Grunkle Stan?” Stan shrugged.

“Heck if I know.” Dipper pulled the Journal out of his vest.

“Wait, let me check.” Mabel looked over his shoulder, watching him skim and turn the pages. “The word for a deer centaur like me is ‘cervitaur’, apparently.” He looked up at Stan. “As for you…stony skin, glowing eyes, horns, wings, claws… You’re a gargoyle, Grunkle Stan.” Stan nodded, staring at the Journal.

“Say, uh, where’d you find that?” Stan asked. 

“In the woods. Remember how I said that stream looked familiar? It’s because there’s an entry about it in here. This book has all the magic and weirdness of Gravity Falls documented in it.” Dipper handed Stan the Journal.

“Huh.” Stan flipped through the pages, being careful to not tear it with his stone hands. “All right, you know what? I’m gonna hold onto this.” 

“What?!” Dipper protested.

“It’s too dangerous. You’re already a deer. I can’t let anything else happen to you.” Stan walked back into his room. His large wings didn’t fit the span of the door, and dug through the wall. Mabel patted Dipper’s shoulder in a comforting manner. He startled at the sudden touch.

“Come on, bro-bro. Let’s get breakfast.” A mischievous twinkle appeared in her eye. “Do you want grass or twigs?”

 

Ford used a flashlight to look into one of Dipper’s ears.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. Dipper’s ear flicked instinctively. “Oh, my apologies, Dipper. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, you didn’t, it was just a…thing that happens sometimes,” Dipper mumbled, embarrassed.

“Remind me what your friends became?”

“Soos is a golem, Wendy’s a werewolf, although that only happened after the first full moon, and Mabel’s friends are also water-based,” Dipper replied.

“Candy says she’s a kappa, and Grenda is like Ursula,” Mabel supplied, sitting in her kiddie pool. “What about me, Great Uncle Ford? When are you gonna test me? I wanna know what’s fascinating about me.” Ford chuckled.

“Mabel, all of you is fascinating. You’re a thoroughly charming person.” Mabel splashed her tail happily. 

“Aw, thanks.” She turned around in her pool slightly. “Y’know, all these compliments almost make up for how I couldn’t be there when the portal turned on.”

“Sorry, Mabel,” Dipper said. “But we couldn’t bring any sort of water-holding device, and the way things went really weird, you would’ve fallen out of it, anyways.” Mabel sighed.

“I never thought that being a mermaid would be so difficult,” she said sadly. 

“You helped Mermando escape the pool,” Dipper reminded her.

“Yeah, but that was different.”

“How?”

“I dunno. ‘Cause his fish part was green and mine is pink? ‘Cause he was born a merson and I wasn’t?” Ford chuckled.

“‘Merson’. That’s a clever portmanteau.”

“I don’t speak Italian.”

“It’s of French origin, actually,” Ford said, scratching the back of his neck. “It refers to combining two words into one that has the meaning of both words.”

“Oh. Great Uncle Ford, are you all right? You’re scratching yourself a lot.” Ford dropped his hand immediately.

“It’s nothing, I’m sure.”

“Could it be some sort of interdimensional chigger?” Dipper asked eagerly.

“Or fleas?” Mabel suggested. Ford laughed.

“Neither. It’s most likely merely irritation due to using this dimension’s soap again. Now, Mabel, would you mind if I measured the length of your tail?” Someone with a loud, rumbling voice cleared their throat, resulting in a sound akin to an avalanche. Ford and the twins looked towards the source of the noise.

“Grunkle Stan, Great Uncle Ford is gonna examine me!” Mabel said. 

“No he’s not. It’s bedtime, kiddos. Now, move it!” 

“But Grunkle Stan,” Dipper and Mabel whined.

“No buts ‘cept yours in bed!” Stan replied fiercely. 

After the kids had gone to bed, Stan addressed his twin.

“Leave those kids alone!” he growled. It would have been frightening even if he wasn’t a gargoyle. Now that he was a mythical creature made of stone, the effect was heavily emphasized. Ford struggled to not step back instinctively.

“They wanted me to examine them,” Ford shot back. “They want a cure!”

“I don’t need them getting caught up in your dangerous nonsense! They’re already half-animal.”

“Exactly! I’m the only one who can come up with a cure, Stanley. You know that.” Stan crossed his arms and looked away.

“Fine! Do your damn tests, do them on me, too, if it’ll help cure the kids. But don’t drag them into whatever nasty business you were dealing with last time. Got it?”

“I would never get those children involved,” Ford said emphatically, scratching his arms. Stan looked at him cockeyed. 

“Got fleas?” he asked.

“That’s what Mabel suggested, but no. I’m just…itchy all over.” Stan nodded wisely.

“That’s how it starts, you know. Before turning into a magical whatever. Your skin itches like hell.” Ford scoffed.

“I haven’t exposed myself to any of the faucet water since my arrival.” 

“I saw you damp yesterday, though.”

“My glasses dropped in the fish tank. I had to convince Mabel to give them to me, and her payment was ‘a splash’.” 

“…We filled that tank with water from the sink.”

“What?!” Stan clapped a heavy, stony hand on Ford’s shoulder.

“Welcome to the monster club, brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the Monster Falls AU, one of the classic AUs, maybe even the original one. I've considered writing Monster Falls fics before, but had some issues getting inspired. Most other Monster Falls fics involve intense body horror, and that is _not_ my idea of a good time.  
>  I actually had another scene planned out to write, but the chapter ended up a lot longer than I expected. Sorry everyone, maybe someday I'll post what I had planned in something. I do have a lot of scrapped scenes from fics...  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	10. A Supernatural and Wonderful Existence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The sea is only the embodiment of **a supernatural and wonderful existence**.” – Jules Verne, _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_

**Date:** January 20, 2012  
 **Dimension:** DE-C/JV’70  
 **Location:** Gravity Falls, Flotsam County, OR  
 **Weather:** Thunderstorm

**Observations:**  
I arrived in a pouring rain, and as such, visibility was negligible. My muscle memory took me to a sheltered location. Or rather, it was supposed to be a sheltered location. Imagine my surprise when I discovered I had waded deep into the ocean!   
\- The ocean in my reality is miles away from Gravity Falls, but Gravity Falls is practically on the beach in this reality  
\- The cave where I had found the instructions to summon Bill is one of the underwater caves that only is dry at low tide  
\- The “Mystery Shack”, a commonality between numerous realities, is present in this reality, but called the “Myster-Sea Shack”. I feel that someone should inform Stan that it is not a shack when it is a boat.  
\- The lumberjacks, instead of chopping down trees, go diving for submerged lumber. Apparently there is good money in this type of career.  
\- The Manotaurs have become “Mermanotaurs”; half-aquatic. I find this interesting, as in my reality, they openly degrade merfolk.  
\- The Dusk 2 Dawn, a charming little convenience store in my reality, is now a bait time/convenience store  
\- The incompetent police force in this Gravity Falls utilizes various propelled watercraft, rather than boats  
\- In fact, a majority of the populace of Gravity Falls seems to live on the water, in neighborhoods of house boats, rather than risk the dangers of the forests on shore

**Conclusions:**  
This is a strange reality with one key difference: Gravity Falls has been moved. Rather than being a lumber town, it is a seaside town. It is as though someone merely pushed Gravity Falls somewhere else. This mere change in locality has resulted in a number of differences as to the flora and fauna of Gravity Falls, which I find remarkable. The Butterfly Effect truly does exist.

**Notes:**  
Why did the name of Gravity Falls not change? I don’t know, it just seems like something that would be…different.  
I wish I could spend longer in this reality, to further study the strange and unusual wonders here. They are markedly different from those in my home reality’s Gravity Falls, and as such could be great boons to my research.

\---

“Mabel, you’ll never guess what I found in the journal!” Dipper shouted, slamming the door of their room open.

“Some sort of nerd thing?” Mabel asked without turning around.

“No! Well, maybe? Look!” Dipper walked over to where she was sitting on the floor and flipped the pages of the journal until he found what he was looking for. “According to the journal, there is an actual kraken in Gravity Falls! It changes color and has powerful suckers on its tentacles.”

“It’s so cute!” Mabel said, squishing her face excitedly. “What’s that shrimpy thing?” she asked, pointing to a picture on the page.

“It’s krill, which is apparently what the kraken likes to eat.” 

“How big is krill?”

“I think it’s really small. So the kraken must eat a lot of it.” He looked at his sister expectantly. “So, do you want to help me find it?”

“You know it, bro-bro. Does the journal say anything in it about where it is?” Dipper looked closely at the journal.

“Um, it says something about a blue hole?”

“What’s a blue hole?” Dipper shrugged. 

“Maybe Grunkle Stan knows.”

“He has to give a tour today.”

“What about Wendy?”

“What about me, dudes?” Wendy asked, poking her head into the room.

“Did you hear our entire conversation?” Dipper asked awkwardly.

“Nah, Stan just told me to tell you guys that he’s going to disembark soon. What about me?”

“Do you know what a blue hole is?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s, like, a sinkhole that filled up with ocean or something. We’ve got one of those. It’s in the forest, off the path a ways. Why are you looking for it?”

“It has a kraken!” Mabel shouted. Wendy chuckled.

“Well, I can show you where it is, if you want. I wouldn’t want you to walk into any bear traps or anything.”

“Won’t Grunkle Stan be upset that you’re not at work?”

“Pfft, he can handle it. He’s got Soos.”

“Wendy, you’re so cool.”

“I know. Let’s go find a sinkhole.”

 

“It should be right here,” Wendy said, holding back some branches for Mabel and Dipper.

“Is it this puddle looking thing?” Mabel asked, crouching at the edge of the pool in the small forest glade. Wendy yanked her back.

“Careful, it’s deeper than it looks. Like, a lot deeper.”

“How deep?”

“I’m not sure, but it was deep enough for me to practice diving in when I was little, so at least thirty feet.”

“Whoa.”

“How big is this kraken if it lives here?” Dipper wondered out loud. He flipped to the journal page. “This picture has it destroying a boat. But I don’t know if a boat could actually do much in this blue hole.” He looked at Wendy. “Are there any other blue holes?”

“Not that I know of. There might be more, though, I guess.”

“Dipper, let’s try this one first, and if we don’t catch anything, we can look for another puddle,” Mabel said. Dipper sighed.

“Okay.” He set down the bag of fishing supplies they’d brought from the Shack and took out the small container of krill they’d had to stop and buy. He dumped half of it into the pool. “And now we wait.”

After about five minutes, bubbles appeared on the surface of the water, getting larger and larger, popping ominously. Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy scrambled back from the blue hole. 

“It’s here!” Wendy said softly. The bubbles slowly disappeared, revealing the kraken. Mabel squealed with delight.

“It’s so cute!” It was about the size of a smallish guinea pig, with four tentacles and two big eyes.

“Wait, was the drawing life-size?” Dipper asked, confused. He looked at the journal page and then back at the small sea monster, currently eating the krill in an adorable way.

“Looks like it,” Wendy said, amused. She grabbed the net they brought and scooped it out. It made a weird chirping noise of distress and changed color from brown to bright yellow. “Still wanna send a picture to National Geographic or whatever?”

“No,” Dipper said, disappointed.

“Can we keep it?” Mabel asked eagerly. Wendy shrugged.

“I don’t see why not.” She dumped it into a bucket full of saltwater. Mabel looked in the bucket and continued to coo at the kraken. 

“Well, that was a disappointment,” Dipper said. 

“For you, maybe,” Mabel said. “Now Waddles has a friend! I think I’ll name it Gompers.”

“Uh, why?”

“It looks like a Gompers.” Dipper and Wendy looked closely at the kraken.

“Yeah, it does,” Wendy said idly.

“…I can see that,” Dipper admitted.

 

Mabel and Dipper waited at the dock for the Shack to come back. Wendy had left a little while back, saying something about cleaning up after her dad at home. Once the Shack docked, they waited for the tourists to disembark before going inside. Grunkle Stan was in the gift shop, like usual, selling some souvenirs. 

“How was your day, kids?” he asked.

“It was okay.”

“We caught a kraken!” Mabel said excitedly, showing him. Stan looked inside the bucket.

“It looks like a small squid. Or maybe a cuttlefish.”

“It’s a kraken.” Stan laughed.

“All right kid, whatever you say. You can keep it in the tank in the living room if you want.”

“Cool!” Mabel ran into the living room to dump Gompers into his new home. 

“How was your day, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper asked.

“Eh. Do you know where Wendy went? She showed up for work but disappeared right before we took off.” Dipper shrugged, avoiding eye contact. Mabel came back.

“Grunkle Stan, what are we having for dinner? Can we order pizza?” she asked.

“How does popcorn sound?”

“Order popcorn?”

“No, make it. I’ve got an old movie about a kraken. We could watch it so you kids know what a real one looks like.” 

“A real one?”

“If they were real, that is. They aren’t.” Stan headed into the kitchen. “Who wants to make some kettle corn?”

“Me!” Mabel and Dipper shouted, running into the kitchen after him.

 

“Great Uncle Ford,” Mabel asked her newly found relative, “why did you come to Gravity Falls?” Ford adjusted his glasses.

“Ah, yes. That is a most remarkable story.” Stan grunted. 

“Sure. It’ll sound like that, since you got a whole day to work on it,” he grumbled. Ford sighed.

“Thank you, Stanley. Well, after I had gotten my degree at Backupsmore, I opted to seek out things like me: weird and strange. And nothing is stranger than the mystical oceanic waters of Gravity Falls, Oregon. So I took my grant money and purchased myself a house boat. It enabled me to do research more conveniently and efficiently. By the way,” Ford said to Stan, “this boat wasn’t meant to be a tourist trap!” Stan waved a hand.

“Had to make money somehow. Tours of the islands here’ll let you rake in lotsa dough.”

“But you make fake attractions for the islands,” Dipper protested. “Like the one that’s just sand statues. Why not have the actual magical little islands be on your tours?”

“Most people ignore magic, even when it’s right in your face,” Stan explained. “There isn’t enough magic on those little spits of land to convince anyone it’s real. You have to make your own.” Ford rolled his eyes. 

“Anyways, after I arrived in Gravity Falls, I quickly realized that merely skimming the surface would not be nearly enough. To get to the bottom of the strangeness and oddity of this seaside town, I would need to get to the bottom of the ocean itself.

“So, I recruited my old college buddy, a talented engineer by the name of Fiddleford McGucket. With his help, I built the submarine that Stanley used to rescue me. Unfortunately, one of my other, ah, research assistants, named Bill, had…tampered with our blueprints. He sabotaged my entire operation.”

“Is that why didn’t you want Grunkle Stan to rescue you?” Mabel asked bluntly.

“What?” Ford asked.

“Well, you got angry and junk with Grunkle Stan, so you must not have wanted him to bring you back from the depths of the ocean.”

“The submarine used to save me has a modified engine to run on plate tectonics. It powers up by shifting the Earth’s crust.”

“And this ‘Bill’ did that to it? Made your submarine run on plate tectonics?” Dipper asked.

“Yes. Bill wished to bring about the end of the world.”

“How would it do that?” Mabel asked.

“One use of the submarine alone could shift the tectonic plates enough to result in an earthquake. Said earthquake would then form a tsunami, which Bill and his ilk would use to come to the surface. A literal tidal wave of weirdness would wash over the town.”

“Wait, is Bill at the bottom of the ocean?” Dipper interrupted.

“Uh, yes.”

“We met him!”

“What?!” 

“Yeah!” Mabel said excitedly. She puffed out her chest proudly. “We’ve already defeated him twice.”

“Really?”

“All right, kids. Enough chitchat. Time for bed,” Stan said abruptly, ushering Dipper and Mabel out of the galley.

“What? No,” they whined in synch.

“I need to have a conversation with Ford,” Stan said. “And he needs to stop filling your brains with all this spooky stuff.”

“But Grunkle Stan-”

“No butts except yours in bed!” Stan said gruffly. He shoved them into the bedroom and closed the door. Stan walked back to the galley, grumbling under his breath. Once he took a seat at the table again, Ford looked up at him.

“Stanley, thank you.”

“What?” Stan asked, taken aback.

“Now that I’ve had some time to cool off, I’ve realized that I may have been a bit harsh. You did what you thought was best, you didn’t know about the potentially world-ending implications of using that submarine.”

“Even if I had, I woulda done it,” Stan said firmly. Ford cracked a smile.

“Yes. You always have been that kind of person.”

“But uh, thanks for saying thanks. I appreciate it. Took a lotta hard work.”

“I can imagine. You really have changed this old boat a lot,” Ford said, looking around the Shack with an impressed air.

“Yup.”

“I still have to do my best to minimize or even reverse the damage that you may have done from using the submarine,” Ford said slowly. “But after that, would you like to join me on a trip?”

“A what?”

“Stanley, I’ve never forgotten our childhood dreams of the Stan O’War. In fact, that’s what I named this ship.”

“Really?” Stan asked quietly. 

“Yes, really.” Ford looked at Stan expectantly. “Well? I know we have a lot of work to do, but if you’re willing…I could use a first mate. Just because this is my boat doesn’t mean you have to leave.” Stan cracked a half-smile.

“I dunno Ford. After the number of years I’ve been running her, this old boat might not listen to you anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I meant to post this on the 26th, but I got very busy on my research trip and simply didn't have the time nor energy to do so. But it's here now!   
> This particular AU is one myself and a friend came up with. We call it "Ocean Falls", and the premise of it is literally just that Gravity Falls is on the coast, rather than in the middle of the state of Oregon.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	11. Neither Brute Nor Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “They are neither man nor woman/They are **neither brute nor human** /They are Ghouls.” – Edgar Allan Poe, _The Bells (IV.)_

**Date:** July 25, 2012  
 **Dimension:** AL-18/89*Fb  
 **Location:** Greasy’s Diner, Gravity Falls, OR  
 **Weather:** Partly cloudy

**Observations:**  
This is the first reality I have arrived in where Stanley has found me. I am still astonished by it. Upon my arrival, I took to the woods, as they are relatively safe from prying eyes in my reality. However, I somehow managed to get lost, and found myself in a deeply dark clearing, being watched by hundreds of Technicolor eyes. I would have likely lost my life, had Stan not intervened. But it is not a Stan I recognize.  
\- This Stan has not two eyes, but six  
\- These six eyes are not normal human eyes. Rather, they glow green, and, unless I am mistaken, emitted a small hum.  
\- He bared his teeth at me upon seeing me, which allowed me to notice his enlarged canines.  
\- He knew the Fae in the clearing by name, and spoke to them as he would an equal. He even flirted with a few of them.  
\- The clearing was filled with roots and other means of tripping up trespassers. I may have imagined it, but it seemed as though these obstacles moved out of Stan’s way when he arrived.  
\- Stan made repeated references to a “gift” that he claimed I possess. I have made little interaction with the Fae of my own universe, so I am unsure as to what he meant.  
\- However, from my travels, I have learned that the Fae come from other dimensions. Strange. Stan associates with dimensional travelers, and is also related to one.   
\- He appeared to have some knowledge of dimensional travel, but a different understanding than I did. It was similar to the method the fair folk utilize. 

**Conclusions:**  
The appearance of this reality’s Stan is evidence enough that he is not human. As for what kind of being he is, well, that was fairly obvious. Fae willingly interact with only others of their species. This reality’s Stan is a changeling: a Fae infant placed with a human family. 

**Notes:**  
My encounter with this reality’s version of Stan was surreal. He asked who I was, and upon my answer, reacted only by insisting I leave the forest. Clearly, he was furious with me. But he didn’t try to fight me. Perhaps he has higher priorities?  
Why was he so protective about the forest? He even called it “his” forest.  
What happened to the “real” Stanley Pines in this dimension? Is it like the faeries of yore; was this dimension’s Stanley raised by faeries, in exchange for one of their children?  
Or is any discussion of a “real” Stanley effectively moot? For all accounts and purposes, this Stanley is the real one. He has never known any other way of life, and was raised as Stanley Pines.  
I should not go down this particular path of thought; it will only lead to headaches and heartaches. 

\---

In the old days, parents adopted a series of security measures to protect their newborn children, or children of any other age, from the fair folk. Abduction was prevented through a number of means, from leaving a pair of open iron scissors near the crib, to surrounding the crib in a circle of salt, to hanging a pair of the father’s pants over the crib. Everyone grew up knowing the tricks of how to avoid faeries: wear red, wear clothes inside out, carry salt or St. John’s-wort, and do not wander into faerie rings. 

These tried and true practices were eventually abandoned as people ceased to believe in the fair folk. Forgotten along with them were the methods of determining which humans were born with the Gift, also called the Sight. Among the knowledge lost was the fact that those who have the Gift are special targets of faeries. The Fae will do anything to keep humans out of their world, particularly those who can see them as they truly are. 

Some of the groups of humans who tend to be born with the Gift are those with heterochromia, twins, those born on a solstice or equinox, and polydactyls. Needless to say, these particular humans are often blinded or even killed. In rare cases, they or a close family member may be abducted, and a faerie replacement left behind. This replacement, called a “changeling”, may or may not know they are Fae. 

To humans, this entire process may seem cruel. But to the fair folk, it is just their way of life.

 

“Thanks for visiting the Mystery Shack, come again!” The last tourists of the day walked out of the gift shop, laden with tchotchkes Stan had sold to them at an exorbitantly high price. Stan counted out the cash with a smile on his face.

_Damn, I’m good._ He put the money away and carefully slid out a book from underneath the cash register. It was the one his brother had thrown at him two years ago. He sighed. _Not good enough, though._ He flipped through the pages idly, not paying attention, just relishing the feeling. Until he saw something he didn’t recognize. 

“What is this?” he muttered. He read the pages.

_I have made contact with the Fae of the Gravity Falls forest. They are strange and unwilling to interact with humans, but have made an exception for me. They say it is because I have “The Gift”, and to deny audience to a human with “The Gift” is to ask for secrets to be exposed. I asked them what they meant by “The Gift”. They say it is an innate ability to see the fair folk and their world as it is. It is something I, as a polydactyl twin, have inherited._

_I have consulted them multiple times on their origin, and they remain tight-lipped about it. But I convinced one of their changelings to tell me. Yes, they have changelings! Apparently, when faeries kidnap human infants, they get attached to the point where they keep the child, and raise it as their own. Incredible!_

_…Regardless, the changeling told me that the first Fae came through a weak spot in our dimension’s “walls”. Could the fair folk be able to assist me on my mission to view other dimensions?_

Stan slammed the book closed.

“Bingo.”

 

“All right, fairies, or whatever the hell you’re called, come out!” Stan shouted. He’d been wandering in the forest for a few hours by now, and hadn’t seen any fairies yet.

_Saw some tree giant monster thing. And…living facial hair. But no fairies. Where the fuck are they?_

“I’m a twin,” he said, trying to sweeten the pot. “I’ve got the Gift or whatever. You should come talk to me.” As if cued by that, a bright blue light suddenly appeared. It hovered to the left of Stan, about three feet off the ground. “The fuck is that?” He began to walk toward it, but stopped. 

_It leads me off the path. Should I follow it?_ Another of the same hovering balls of light appeared, a few feet past the first one. _Fuck it._ Stan stepped off the path and followed the new one.

After ten minutes, the forest began to get dark. Five minutes after that, Stan felt a prickle on the back of his neck that he recognized: someone was watching him. Fifteen minutes after that, he tripped over a root. Quiet tittering filled the darkened clearing he was in.

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up,” Stan grumbled, getting to his feet. “But you dorks just slipped up. You can’t pretend you’re not there any more!” The clearing became dead silent before getting illuminated by hundreds of eyes. Stan blanched and took an instinctive step backward. “Fan-fucking-tastic. What did you get yourself into this time, you knucklehead?” The tittering filled the air again. Stan looked around at the eyes, which were in colors that spanned the entire rainbow. 

_You can do this. Just bluff your way through it. Fake confidence, don’t let them know you’re terrified._

“Who do I talk to about dimensional travel?” he asked clearly. The laughter stopped once more.

“How do you know about that?” a deep voice rumbled. Stan scanned the area, but was unable to discern where the voice came from. 

“My brother knew you guys. Stanford Pines. He had the Gift. And so do I. I’m his twin, after all.” 

“No you don’t,” another voice said, this one with a higher pitch. “You don’t have the Gift.” Stan’s heart fell.

“What- what makes you say that?” he asked. 

_Dammit! If they can’t help me, I won’t be able to get Ford back for years._

“Only humans can have the Gift,” a third voice said. “You aren’t human, Stanley.” A chill ran through him.

“How- how did you know my name?” he asked.

“We know our own,” the first voice thundered. 

“What?”

“We recognize our own, and call them by their names,” the second voice said.

“Are you- are you saying that I- that I’m-?”

“One of us,” the third voice said. “You are Fae, Stanley Pines.” Stan blinked. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Look at yourself,” the three voices said in unison. Stan rummaged in one of his pockets until he dug out his flask. It was metal, and he kept it polished well enough that he could see his reflection in it. He held the flask up to his face and looked at himself, as he was told. Glowing green eyes reflected back at him. 

There was only one proper response.

“Well, shit.”

 

Stan approached his twin.

“Finally! After all these long years of waiting, you’re actually here! Brother!” He didn’t expect the punch. Stan winced, surprised by the strength behind Ford’s fist. He could feel his grasp on his human guise grow tenuous. 

_Shit! Can’t lose control now. Not in front of the kids._

“What the heck was that for?” he asked. Ford responded with yet another blow. Stan fell to the ground. He whipped his head around to face Ford at a speed he recognized as inhuman. Ford gasped and took a few steps back.

“St-Stan?” Ford said. Stan stood up and squashed down the instinct to bare his teeth at Ford. 

“That’s my name,” he said, taking off his glasses.

_It’s pointless wearing ‘em right now. The four extra eyes don’t exactly have their own pairs._

“What happened to you?” Ford asked. Stan shrugged.

“Eh, apparently when you get chosen as the guardian of the forest or whatever, this sorta stuff happens.” Ford shook his head.

“That’s impossible. Only Fae can be forest guardians.” Stan looked at Ford. “…Oh. Stan, you’re not-”

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” Mabel interrupted. Stan turned. She and Dipper gasped. 

“Dude…” Soos said in a low voice. 

“Wh- how- are- what the heck is going on?!” Dipper said, his voice squeaking slightly. Stan turned back to Ford.

“This is why I didn’t wanna fight in front of the kids! I lost control, and now they’re scared. Way to go, Poindexter.” 

“I- You didn’t tell me there were children down here, Stan,” Ford said softly.

“Well, there are. And now they know I’m not human.”

“What _are_ you?” Dipper asked. Stan shrugged.

“Changeling or Fae or something like that. Not important.”

“Wait wait wait. Like a fairy?” Mabel asked. Her eyes sparkled. Stan chuckled despite himself at his niece’s excitement.

“Not the kind you’re thinking of, sweetheart.”

“When did you find out?” Ford asked Stan. 

“A coupla years after you went…wherever you went. Wandered into the forest looking for help to start up your machine thing, found faeries, got told I was a changeling. Then a little while later, they ‘summoned’ me or whatever and made me the guardian of the forest. Got these extra eyes when I got the gig. Saves me money on Summerween makeup, I’ll tell you that.”

“Grunkle Stan, are you gonna introduce us your brother?” Mabel asked. Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

“Right. I think it’s best if I start from the beginning.”

 

“So I never actually had a twin?” Ford asked Stan. Stan nodded. He, Ford, and Dipper and Mabel were sitting in the basement lab. Ford had insisted on running tests on him, and the kids had insisted on watching. 

“Apparently, sometimes when they leave one of their faerie babies behind, they don’t bother taking a human in exchange. And something about you made them nervous, so they wanted someone to keep an eye on you.” Stan winked with three of his eyes. “Or six.”

“HA!” Mabel laughed.

“Thanks, pumpkin.” 

“Why did they choose you as forest guardian?” Ford wondered. Stan shrugged.

“Beats me.”

“So you _don’t_ have any wings?” Mabel asked.

“I already told you, no. I don’t.”

“Oh, poo.”

“It’s okay, Mabel, magical creatures aren’t what we assume they’ll be,” Ford said. “Faeries, unicorns, mermaids…no, wait, mermaids are fairly kind and considerate creatures.”

“What’s wrong with unicorns?” Mabel asked, upset. Ford scoffed.

“What’s _right_ with them?” 

“So, Great Uncle Ford, what are you doing now?” Dipper asked eagerly. Ford showed him the device he was currently holding.

“When I point this at someone, it reveals that they are Fae, no matter how good their glamour, or disguise, is.”

“How does it do that?”

“It picks up on energy waves broadcast by Fae auras. When it registers them, it makes a high-pitched sound. Like so.” Ford pointed the device at Stan. It began to emit a high noise. Stan winced.

“That’s annoying.”

“Yes, it is,” Ford replied matter-of-factly. “Now, when it’s pointed at a human, it stops.” He pointed it at Dipper. It continued to make the noise.

“Oh, it must be broken,” Dipper said. Ford frowned.

“It shouldn’t be,” he muttered. He turned it to face himself. The noise stopped. They all looked at Dipper.

“It’s just messing up or something, right? It’s wrong,” Dipper said quickly. “I’m not- I can’t be- I’m a human, I know I am!”

“Kid…” Stan said softly. 

“Dip-dop, it’s fine,” Mabel said gently. She patted her brother on the back. “So what if you have glowing orange eyes?”

“What?!” Dipper closed his eyes tightly and rubbed them. “No, I have normal eyes. I’m human!”

“Dipper,” Ford started. 

“You’re wrong!” Dipper ran out of the lab. Mabel got up to follow him. 

“Mabel, don’t.” Mabel sat back down. “Give him some time,” Stan said. “It’s rough, finding out you’re not human.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks. Inspiration is hard to come by sometimes. But hopefully the next chapter will be up soon. It's something I've been excited about writing since the beginning.  
> This chapter was the Neverhuman AU, created by notllorstel (notllorstel.tumblr.com). There's another fic out there that takes place in this AU, and I highly recommend it. It's called "A Thousand Natural Shocks".   
> Even though it was tough to get inspired for this chapter, I had fun writing it. I've been reading fairy tales and fairy mythology since I was very small, so it was fun to dip into my fairy knowledge.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	12. The Power That Lay Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ **The power that lay within** both their souls had met, and, as it were, clasped hands.” – Emma Orczy, _The Scarlet Pimpernel_

**Date:** June 17, 2012  
**Dimension:** JSA/-1940*  
**Location:** Gravity Falls, Oregon  
**Weather:** Sunny, breezy

**Observations:**  
I can’t help but be amused by the fact that I arrived in this reality a mere few days before my birthday. Rarely have I spent enough time in dimensions to celebrate it. Of course, my celebration consisted of stealing a pie from the diner. I would have purchased it, but this reality’s version of myself is a regular there, and I didn’t want to run into him. 

While I was eating my birthday pie in the Gravity Falls Public Library, I stumbled across the newsprint section, which was markedly different than the one in my home reality. As such, I perused it extensively.  
\- Superpowers and superheroes exist in this reality  
\- However, they have a distinctly checkered history; much of the public is divided on them  
\- This is due to an incident in the early 2000s, when three male superheroes (who look remarkably familiar) defeated a villain, but at the cost of destroying much of Portland, Oregon  
\- After the incident, the three superheroes disappeared, and the government began to insist on people with superpowers registering themselves  
\- Here in Gravity Falls, I do research with Fiddleford, like in many realities  
\- Another commonality with other realities: Stanley runs the “Mystery Shack”. A difference: he appears constantly flushed.  
\- I regularly see technology behave remarkably well around this reality’s Fiddleford. Even better than it behaves around my reality’s Fiddleford, which is saying something.  
\- This reality’s version of myself does not always have a consistent appearance. But perhaps I’m just imagining it.

**Conclusions:**  
This is a reality in which myself, Stanley, and Fiddleford have superhuman abilities! And fought crime as superheroes. However, it appears that we were the same superheroes that effectively ruined it for everyone else, and, ashamed, chose to retire to Gravity Falls.

**Notes:**  
This reality has a slight timeslide – Stanley and I were born later than in most realities, and as such, are younger than I currently am. At least, I think. It’s difficult to keep track of the years.  
I feel that Stanley would enjoy this reality. He was always a big fan of comic books, and would spend most of his allowance on purchasing the latest adventures of Superman.  
Needless to say, the concept of people being on a registry is one I am uncomfortable with. On my mother’s side, I have relatives who survived World War II Germany only by hiding in an attic.  
I have seen children wandering around the house, much like in other realities. I wonder if superpowers run in families. If so, these relatives of mine could have powers as well.  
Related to that, if powers run in families, I feel sorry for Fiddleford’s parents, who might have had to raise six superpowered children.

\---

**1982 – Backupsmore University**

Stan wandered into the room he shared with Stanford. 

“Ford, your boyfriend just ran past me saying something about holy water.”

“Did he say _why_ he needed holy water?” Ford asked, not looking up from his project.

“I think he said his room was possessed.” 

“Fascinating.” Ford continued to fiddle with the screws on his experimental machine. Stan squatted down next to him.

“Really? Your boyfriend has a possessed room and you’re not even gonna go check on him? Or his room?”

“My project is of utmost importance.”

“You’ve been working on it since high school, you can take a break.” Ford shook his head. “Remember what happened last time you marathoned futzing around with this thing? I nearly got electrocuted.”

“You only had minor burns,” Ford said absentmindedly. Stan scoffed.

“Yeah, sure, that’s the only thing that happened to me.”

“Regardless, I doubt Fiddleford will want to see me,” Ford said, ignoring Stan’s comment. “He may have been helping me out with the machine and he may have gotten shocked.”

“Dammit, Ford, can’t you make this thing even a bit safe?” Ford didn’t respond. “Okay, fine. Keep working on a flimsy piece of machinery that’s gonna fall apart any day now.” Stan paused. “You remember the thing that happened to me, right?” Ford sighed.

“Yes.”

“Could it happen to Fiddlenerd, too?” 

“No, it could only happen in someone predisposed.”

“What makes you think he isn’t?” Stan asked. “What did you say when you met his family? That there was something about them that seemed…odd?” Ford looked up at Stan with a horrified expression.

“Oh no.”

 

There was a knock on Fiddleford’s door. 

“Come in,” Fiddleford said, continuing to tape herbs onto the walls. Ford and Stan walked into the dorm room.

“Like what you did with the place,” Stan said idly, looking around. “But it smells sorta like a pizza parlor.”

“Basil has protective properties,” Fiddleford said. Stan and Ford shared a look, catching the quiver in Fiddleford’s voice. Stan closed the door.

“Fidds, take a seat,” Ford said gently. Fiddleford shook his head.

“Nope. Can’t. My room’s haunted. Got to get it exorcized or purified or-”

“Look, Fiddlenerd, it _probably_ isn’t haunted,” Stan interrupted. Fiddleford shook his head again.

“No, I keep hearin’ voices and-”

“Fiddleford,” Ford said calmly. “Take a seat, please. Stan and I think we may have an explanation.” Fiddleford reluctantly sat down on his bed. Ford sat down next to him. Stan continued to stand by the door, idly pulling herbs off the wall and sniffing them.

“So, what’s yer explanation?” Fiddleford asked.

“The experiment we were working on the other day, when you got shocked,” Ford began, “was it after that you began to hear things?” Fiddleford nodded. Ford sighed. “I was hoping this wasn’t the case. Fiddleford, that machine grants people certain…abilities.”

“Abilities?”

“Superpowers,” Stan supplied. “Y’know, like Superman and shit? The Justice League, the Avengers. And those weirdos that are popping up some places now, too.” Fiddleford’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“It’s superpowers?”

“Yes.”

“Well, why didn’t ya say so earlier? I thought I was losin’ my mind! But it’s just powers is all.” Stan and Ford exchanged a glance.

“Uh, you’re taking this a _lot_ better than we thought you would, Fiddleford,” Ford said slowly. “We thought you would say we were crazy, and we’d have to prove it to you.”

“Nah, I know powers are real. I just thought they’d skipped me is all,” Fiddleford said airily. Ford leaned in.

“Skipped you?”

“Yup. Like how some traits skip generations. Powers can be like that.”

“Hold on,” Stan said. “Fiddlenerd, are you saying that powers run in your family?” Fiddleford’s eyes widened.

“Uh…no?”

“I knew there was something strange about your siblings!” Ford enthused. “Which ones have powers? Your younger siblings, right? They always just sort of _appeared_ places.”

“Leave my siblings out of this!” Fiddleford said. He frowned. “An’ anyways, how come ya know so much ‘bout powers and whatnot?” 

“‘Cause we have them,” Stan said idly. 

“Really?” 

“You’re looking at the first guinea pig of Ford’s weird experiment,” Stan said. He flexed his fingers idly. They caught fire. Fiddleford jumped.

“Stanley, put those out!” Ford hissed. “You’ll set off the smoke detectors!”

“Fine.” The flames disappeared from Stan’s hand. Fiddleford stared. 

“Holy buckets.”

“Ford, on the other hand, he was born with powers,” Stan said. He rolled his eyes. “Show-off.” Fiddleford turned to Ford.

“What can ya do?”

“I’m a shapeshifter.” Fiddleford cocked his head.

“Really? That’s phenomenal, that is.”

“Thank you. The question that remains is ‘What can _you_ do?’” Fiddleford shrugged.

“I don’t rightly know. I’ve got a headache, and can hear these sort of voices every now and then.”

“Maybe you can read minds,” Stan suggested. “Quick, tell me what I’m thinking.” Fiddleford squinted for a few minutes, then shook his head.

“Nothin’.”

“Granted, that is _Stanley’s_ mind,” Ford said. Stan raised his eyebrows.

“Damn, Sixer, that was rude.”

“It ain’t people thoughts,” Fiddleford said. 

“What do you mean?” Ford asked.

“It don’t feel like my thoughts feel. It feels sort of…electronic.” Stan suddenly groaned. “What?”

“I think I know what it is.”

“How would you know?” Ford asked. 

“‘Cause I read comic books, Poindexter. Fiddlenerd, I bet what you’ve got is technopathy.”

“…What?” Fiddleford asked.

“You can control technology and talk to it and shit like that,” Stan explained. Fiddleford blinked.

“Huh. That _does_ make sense.”

“Try to turn off the lights,” Ford suggested. Fiddleford frowned in concentration. The lights turned off. “Stan, you were right!”

“Yep. It sucks, though.”

“Why?” Fiddleford and Ford asked together.

“‘Cause it’s a fucking pun. Fiddlenerd’s a brainiac, and the only person I can think of who’s got that power is called Brainiac.”

 

**2012 – Gravity Falls**

A car with two adults and two children pulled up at the bus stop.

“Now, kids, remember what we told you,” Mrs. Pines said. “Don’t talk to your uncles about your superpowers. And don’t let them see you use them. Actually, better yet, don’t use your powers at all.”

“Yes, mom,” Dipper and Mabel replied dutifully. 

“I don’t get why, though,” Mabel said. “I mean, they’re family, right? If there’s anyone we can talk to about having powers, it’s family.”

“Yeah, maybe they have powers,” Dipper said. Mrs. Pines pursed her lips.

“I don’t know if they have powers or not, and seeing as the government is getting more and more strict about people with superpowers, just keep it under wraps, okay?”

“Why is the government doing that, again?” Mabel asked. Mr. Pines sighed.

“Because of that accident a few years back, when those men flubbed up and accidentally nearly destroyed all of Portland,” Mr. Pines replied. “You kids were too young to remember, but it was a big deal. And ever since, those men haven’t been seen fighting crime.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame, really. I always liked seeing them on the news. It was nice to know they were still alive.” Mrs. Pines looked at her watch.

“Kids, you’re gonna be late for your bus!”

“Okay, bye mom, by dad!” Mabel and Dipper said, getting out of the car. The twins watched their parents drive away.

“Are we _really_ not gonna use our powers for a whole summer?” Dipper asked Mabel. Mabel scoffed.

“Pssht. No. We just gotta be sneaky about it, bro-bro.” 

 

Mabel found her twin brother staring at a control panel in a tree.

“Whoa, bro-bro, what’s that?” she asked. Dipper shrieked, startled. Mabel giggled. 

“Well, uh, I don’t know what it is,” Dipper said, regaining his composure.

“Try pushing one of the buttons,” Mabel suggested. 

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Dipper began. Mabel excitedly pushed three of the buttons in quick succession. With a shudder, the ground began to move. Dipper and Mabel yelped and scrambled away from the base of the tree. The twins stared at the hole in the ground.

“We should explore it!” Mabel said excitedly.

“Yeah, but maybe we should get Wendy or Soos, first,” Dipper said. A low moan echoed from the hole, making the twins jump. Mabel nodded.

“That might be a good idea.”

A few minutes later, Wendy, Soos, Dipper, and Mabel descended the staircase, into the strange hole in the ground.

“What _is_ this place?” Dipper wondered.

“Some kind of bunker, maybe,” Wendy said. “My dad’s got one like this, just in case the apocalypse happens or whatever.” The lantern she was holding flickered. “Oh, dam- darn it.” The lantern went out. The four of them were engulfed by darkness.

“Mabel, you’re not wearing your lightbulb sweater or something, are you?” Soos asked. 

“No,” Mabel said, “but I _am_ wearing my glowy skin.”

“Your what?” Wendy asked.

“Well, actually, I’m always wearing it,” Mabel said. She began to emit a bright, rainbow-colored glow. Wendy, Soos, and Dipper winced, covering their eyes.

“Mabel, turn it down a bit,” Dipper said. 

“Sorry,” Mabel said, dimming slightly until she was about the same brightness as a glow stick. 

“Dude, how are you doing that?” Wendy asked. “It’s sick, man.” Mabel shrugged.

“I was born able to light up a room. And that’s _without_ using my superpowers,” she said with a grin. Dipper rolled his eyes.

“Whoa, wait. Hambone, you’ve got superpowers?” Soos said eagerly. “That’s like, the dream!”

“Dipper’s got ‘em, too,” Mabel said. “They’re not as pretty as mine, but they’re all right.” 

“You’ve gotta show us your powers,” Wendy said to Dipper. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“My parents said not to show anyone,” he said quietly.

“Aw, come on, man!” Wendy said. “It’s me and Soos! Who are we gonna blab to, huh?” 

“Fine,” Dipper mumbled. He disappeared.

“Whoa!” Soos said. “So, you can turn invisible?” Dipper reappeared. 

“Y-yeah.”

“That’s pretty cool, dude,” Wendy said, winking at Dipper. Dipper blushed slightly. 

“Okay, back to exploring this bunker,” he said. “Do you think there’s a light switch somewhere?”

“Oh, here’s one,” Soos said. He flicked the light switch on. Nothing happened. “Hmm.” 

“Maybe it’s broken,” Mabel suggested. She joined him by the wall. “That’s a weird looking light switch.”

“Lemme try again,” Soos said. He flicked the switch. There was a shudder. A section of the wall moved, revealing a closet. “Dudes, check it out! There’s like, costumes in here!” 

“Ooh, I like this one!” Mabel said, grabbing a bright red one. She squinted at it. “Wait…” Mabel turned to Dipper. “This looks sorta familiar.” Dipper took the costume from her and peered down at it.

“This looks like the costume one of those guys used. Y’know, the ones that got superheroes banned?”

“Oh, right!” Wendy said. “What did they call themselves? The Mystery Trio or something?”

“They never called themselves that,” Soos intervened. “The media called them that.” He puffed his chest out proudly. “I should know. I _am_ their number one fan. I even have an autograph from one of them.” Soos began to rummage around in his pockets.

“If those guys’ costumes are here, does that mean that they’re here, too?” Dipper said slowly. His eyes widened. “We could have walked past a former superhero and not even realized it!”

“Dude, I think I would know if there were retired superheroes living in Gravity Falls,” Wendy said. “I mean, I’ve lived here my whole life. And I’ve never seen anyone with powers until, like, today.”

“Got it!” Soos said triumphantly, holding out a dingy photograph. He handed it to Mabel. “Flamethrower signed it for me.”

“Cool!” Mabel said. She frowned. “The handwriting looks familiar. Dipper, look.” Dipper peered over her shoulder. 

“Yeah, it does. I can’t place it, though.” Footsteps suddenly echoed from the direction of the staircase. “Oh no! Someone’s coming!”

“Hide!” Mabel whispered, handing the autograph to Dipper and diving behind a barrel. 

“Mabel, you’re still glowing!” Dipper hissed.

“Oh, right!” Before Mabel could stop glowing, someone walked into the room, with them, some form of light. The four of them looked up warily. Standing before them, his hand on fire, was someone they recognized very well. Dipper suddenly placed the handwriting on the autograph. It was the same writing on the “sale” signs in the Gift Shop.

“Dude…” Soos breathed. The retired superhero, Stan Pines, quirked an eyebrow.

“What are you kids doing down here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update. I've been busy with school starting up again, and working on my thesis and whatnot.  
> This chapter was a version of a superhero AU. I'm sure that everyone has their own interpretation, and this is mine.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	13. Yield to It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The only way to get rid of temptation is to **yield to it**.” – Oscar Wilde, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_

**Date:** August 25, 2012  
 **Dimension:** AH-7*T  
 **Location:** Gravity Falls, OR  
 **Weather:** Sunny and warm; the perfect summer day

**Observations:**  
Upon my arrival, I initially mistook this reality as being one of the few where Bill’s presence is not felt. After years allowing him to peruse my mind and body, I have formed a sort of “link” with him. It is not one I enjoy (rather, I despise it), but it allows me to know when Bill is a current force wherever I am. I did not feel that in this reality. Due to that factor alone, I was tempted to cease my interdimensional travels here. But I quickly learned that it would not be possible. This reality has an active version of myself. It’s for the best, really. I must continue my search for my own home, as imperfect as it may be.

Although this reality may not currently be struggling with Bill, they have had some recent troubles.  
\- Much of the town was destroyed shortly before my arrival. Buildings are being slowly returned to normal, including my own home.  
\- I saw some graffiti that suggests Bill was the source of the recent troubles. It is impossible to mistake that eye.  
\- The townsfolk of this reality are even more tightlipped than in other realities. Whenever I attempt to ask them questions, they shout “Never mind all that!” and run off.  
\- My own twin brother is regarded as a town hero. Clearly, something is desperately wrong with this reality.  
\- Another hint that this reality is “messed up” (as I have overheard some teens say): I don’t appear to be human!  
\- The times I have caught glimpses of this reality’s version of myself, I have seen a person I can identify, but do not recognize.   
\- This reality’s version of myself is constantly glowing, and I have yet to see him eat.  
\- This reality’s version of myself randomly appears and disappears, and I have heard his voice in my mind twice. Though those may have been my own thoughts. 

**Conclusions:**  
In this reality, I am a _demon_! And not from birth. Those are easily recognizable. No, in this reality, Bill recruited me to join his gang of miscreants. It is obvious from the aura this version of myself possesses, and his being tied to a token. Truly despicable. 

**Notes:**  
What could possibly possess me to join Bill and his ilk? Well, what could possess me, other than Bill, to do such a thing?  
The people of the town clearly know of Bill. It saddens my heart. No one should know of him, let alone these townsfolk, who were an audience and unwilling participants to the apocalypse. At least, from what little information I have gathered, this seems to be the case.

\---

“I’ll join you.” He had no plan, but no options. He was winging it. Ford tried to ignore the voice at the back of his mind. 

_Improvisation is not one of your strengths. What are you doing?_ Bill blinked (or winked; it was hard to tell). 

“What?” He seemed taken aback. Ford relished the feeling. Very few people could surprise Bill Cipher. 

“You heard me. I’ll join you. You’re right. With you, that’s the only place I’ll ever belong.” Bill began to laugh. Cold sweat broke out on Ford’s skin. 

“Well, well, well, Fordsy, never thought you’d do it. All right, you think you’ve got what it takes to roll with my crew? Be my guest.” A beam of blue energy shot from Bill’s eye and struck Ford squarely in the chest. Electricity rippled across Ford’s body, tickling his skin before digging in deeper, past his epidermis, immersing itself in every cell. He gasped at the sensation of sheer power flowing through his veins. Bill’s cronies laughed. Or cheered. Or some combination of the two. Ford wasn’t quite sure. Merely keeping his head was taking all of his willpower.

_“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” And even though Bill wouldn’t dare give me absolute power, he_ would _give me just enough to be corrupted._ Ford grit his teeth and formed fists, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. _Think of Mabel and Dipper. Think of your family. Stay grounded. For them._

“It’s one heck of a rush, isn’t it?” Bill asked gleefully. “Goes straight to your head.” Ford continued to stay on the ground, prone. “All right, that’s enough. Stand up. You’re one of us now, you gotta act like it.” Ford stood up slowly. Bill rubbed the area where his chin would be if he had one. “Not too shabby, Sixer. You make a decent Henchmaniac.” 

“Bill!” Ford’s blood ran cold at the sound of his nephew’s voice. 

_Is it blood? I’ve effectively sold my soul to Bill. Who’s to say he hasn’t replaced my blood with some other fluid? He’s not even restricted to fluids, actually. Maybe my heart is pumping plasma now. Do I have a heart?_

“Now, isn’t this _interesting_ ,” Bill said, his voice turning ominous mid-sentence. Ford watched Bill close in on Dipper, dread mounting. “My old puppet is back for an encore. Or maybe he’s back to follow in his idol’s footsteps.”

“I’d never join you!” Dipper shouted. His voice cracked, but for once, he didn’t seem concerned about it. He looked at Ford. “Great Uncle Ford, what are you doing?” 

“Joining my crew, isn’t it obvious?” Bill said. One of Bill’s cronies put an arm around Ford’s shoulders. Ford fought back a shudder of disgust. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but the offer’s a one-time thing. You’re not invited to _this_ party.” Dipper glowered. “Heh. You’re cute when you’re angry. Hey, Sixer, how’s about you take care of the kid?”

“W-what?” Ford stammered. He was roughly shoved forward by the Henchmaniacs. 

“Think of it like hazing, only better! To sign up for this frat, you’ve gotta punish the kid.” Bill picked Dipper up by his shirt and set him down in front of Ford. Dipper looked at Ford desperately. Ford could see conflicting emotions warring in his nephew’s eyes. 

_He wants to believe that this is all an act, but he’s not sure if he does._

“Go on, Sixer,” Bill said. His voice dropped multiple octaves. “Or do you wanna watch me handle it, and then handle you?” Ford swallowed.

_I have to play the game. I have to play the game._ He raised a six-fingered hand. Dipper backed away nervously.

“G-great Uncle Ford…”

“I’d apologize, my boy,” Ford began, as his hand began to glow red with energy. “But I’m not sorry.” A blast emanated from his palm and stuck Dipper in the chest, throwing him into a tree. Dipper wheezed, the wind having been knocked out of him. 

“A bit sloppy on the technique, but you’ve got potential,” Bill said, putting an arm around Ford’s shoulders. “Some practice and you’ll be good enough for the big time. But before that…” Bill snapped his fingers. The three journals, which had fallen out of Dipper’s bag, rose into the air and caught on fire. Ford bit back a shout.

_My life’s work!_

“The journals!” Dipper shouted.

“Not much of a threat now, are you?” Bill taunted. He turned back to his Henchmaniacs. “Now, can anybody remind me why we came here?”

“To get weird!” one of the monsters (8-Ball?) shouted excitedly.

“That’s right! VIP party at the Fearamid. Oh, and 8-Ball, Teeth, you’ve earned a treat. Have the kid for a snack. Henchmaniacs, roll out!” Pyronica (the only one that Ford could recognize easily) picked Ford up and threw him into the car that Bill had just conjured. As they flew away, Ford watched Dipper run into the forest, chased by two demons. 

_Good luck, Dipper._

 

Ford was leaning against one of the walls in the ghastly Fearamid when Keyhole ran up to Bill’s throne. 

“Boss, we’ve got a problem!” Keyhole said desperately. Ford continued to tap his toes to the beat of the godawful music, pretending to enjoy the party. He focused on the muted conversation between Keyhole and Bill.

_Maybe it’s just muted because I’m getting hearing damage from these demons screeching. After all this is over, I might have to borrow Stanley’s hearing aid._ Ford choked back a groan. _Stanley…_

“What is it this time?” Bill asked, annoyed. “I’ve already taken care of Mabel, and my new watchdog took care of Old Fezzy.” Ford could feel Bill’s gaze on him. He took a sip of the “time punch”, hoping his hands weren’t shaking. 

“We can’t escape,” Keyhole said. “We’ve tried everything! There’s some sort of force field around the town!” Ford’s cup slipped from his hands. 

_Gravity Falls’ Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism! This chaos hasn’t spread across the globe. Not yet, at least._ He knelt down to pick up his dropped cup, continuing to listen.

“I get the feeling that a certain six-fingered freak might be able to help out with that,” Bill said ominously. “Ford!” he shouted over the music. Ford swallowed and walked over to Bill.

“Y-yes, Boss?” he asked, barely choking out the second word. 

“We’ve got a problem, and you’re just the person to fix it.” Bill steepled his fingers. “There’s some sort of force field surrounding the town, and my weirdness can’t escape to spread across this miserable little planet.”

“That’s a shame.” Bill’s eye narrowed.

“Yes. It is.” Bill crossed his legs. “You’re the one who did all the research, Sixer. What’s going on?”

_Think fast, think fast!_ Ford opened his mouth, but no words came out. _Damn! Of course you couldn’t think of anything. The last time you tried to improvise a plan, you ended up becoming a demon, and have had zero opportunities to try to take down this operation from the inside._

“C’mon, genius, I may control time itself, but I don’t have all day,” Bill said impatiently. 

“W-well, it could be-” Ford began to stammer out. He was cut off by a loud crash and roar. 

“Hey, I just fixed that door!” Bill shouted. Ford spun around. There was a gaping hole in the side of the Fearamid, through which a giant robot could be seen. Ford fought back a grin.

_It must be Fiddleford’s work!_

“So the mortals are trying to fight back, huh? Adorable!” Bill said, leaning back in his throne. “Henchmaniacs, you know what to do! Take ‘em out!” Ford began to move toward the door. “Uh-uh. Not so fast, Fordsy.” A glowing blue chain manifested out of thin air and latched around Ford’s neck. He looked back. The chain was hooked to Bill’s throne. “I know you’ve been trying to play me, Sixer,” Bill said ominously, over the sounds of battle. “You’re a scientist, not an actor. You’re staying here until I get the secret to world weirdness out of you. And I don’t care about damaging you in the process.” Ford swallowed nervously. 

 

Shortly after Bill had joined the fight, Ford heard the sound of screaming. But it didn’t seem to be coming from the battle between the robot and Bill. It was much too close, and getting louder by the second. He looked up. People were descending from the sky into the Fearmid.

_Mabel is truly something else, if she can turn her sweaters into parachutes._ He watched Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, Soos, Stan, and people he didn’t recognize hit the ground. They stood up slowly, looking around the room. 

“Great Uncle Ford!” Mable shouted. She began to rush towards him, but was held back by Dipper.

“No, Mabel. He betrayed us. Don’t you remember?”

“Yeah, he stuck me in that bubble,” Stan said grumpily. “Last time I go outside during the apocalypse to get the newspaper.” 

“But he’s- he’s _chained_!” Mabel said. “If he was really working for Bill, he wouldn’t be tied up like that!”

“It could just all be a trick,” Dipper said. Ford’s heart sunk.

“Dipper, please, believe me, I’m on your side.”

“I’m having trouble believing that,” Dipper said. “Maybe it’s the _glowing demon eyes_!”

“Please, Dipper! I know how to take down Bill!”

“Well, duh, you’re a demon, too,” Wendy said. Ford looked at Stan. 

“Stanley, do you trust me?” he asked quietly. A million emotions crossed Stan’s face. 

“That’s a heck of a question, after everything you’ve done,” he said gruffly. “Causing the apocalypse, turning my own family against me, not even thanking me for bringing you back.”

“Stan…”

“But you’re not lying,” Stan finished. Ford blinked in surprise. Stan glowered. “Don’t think I’m going soft on you. You’re just not a lying demon like that dang nacho chip.” He walked over to Ford and dug a bobby pin out of his pocket. Stan began to pick the lock on Ford’s collar. “You’re a normal demon, and the only sentient thing here that knows how to stop the world from ending.” The collar fell away from Ford’s neck. “And you’re my brother and junk, too, I guess.”

“Thank you, Stanley.” Stan’s facial expression softened.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said. “Now, how do we save the world?”

 

Stan tossed the journal back and forth between his hands.

“Let me get this straight,” he began, “your ‘essence’ is linked to this now?”

“Yes,” Ford said. “It’s one of the side effects of being a demon. To remain on this plane of existence, I need a token.”

“So then I _probably_ shouldn’t burn it,” Stan said. He sighed. “Soos, put the gasoline back in the closet.”

“You got it, Mr. Pines!”

“Isn’t that the same closet the fireworks are kept in?” Dipper asked. 

“Your point being?” Stan said frostily.

“…Never mind.” Dipper, Mabel, Stan, Ford, and Soos were back at the Shack, making plans. For Dipper and Mabel, the plans were for their joint 13th birthday party. For Stan and Ford, the plans were for their seafaring trip. Soos didn’t need any plans. He just liked being there when plans were made.

“Yes, Stan, I would greatly appreciate it if you could avoid burning my only tether to this particular reality,” Ford said snippily. 

“Why didn’t Bill have one of these?” Dipper asked. Ford adjusted his glasses.

“Well, there are different classes of demons. There are dream demons, which Bill was, there are possession demons, which Bill was, there are-”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, there’s lots of demons,” Stan said.

“What kind are you?” Mabel asked.

“…I have yet to figure that out, my dear.” 

“Ooh, so it’s a challenge!”

“Yes,” Ford said with a smile. Dipper frowned.

“Wait, Great Uncle Ford, you said that the journal was the only thing keeping you on this reality. Does that mean you can visit other realities, then?” Dipper asked. 

“Theoretically, yes.”

“Whoa,” Mabel said. Her eyes shone. “You could visit a reality where everyone’s a dog!” Ford chuckled at his niece’s optimism.

“I think I’ll stay in this reality for some time, however. I’ve done the dimension-hopping thing before, and I desperately need a break from it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, it's been a while since I've updated. Sorry about that. I've been too busy to sit down and hash out this chapter. But the final chapter should be up sometime next week, so there's that! ...Unless you're disappointed about the next chapter being the final one.   
> Anyways, this chapter was the One of Us AU, and it was a really tough one for me to write. I think it turned out pretty well, though.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Nothing is as sweet as a man’s own country.” – Homer, _The Odyssey_

**Date:** August 11, 2012  
 **Dimension:** 46’\  
 **Location:** The Mystery Shack, Gravity Falls, OR  
 **Weather:** Sunny

**Observations:**  
Thirty years. Thirty long, arduous years of adventures, misadventures, alternate realities, and attempting to flee the demon that has haunted me for over half of my life now. It’s all over. Ten days ago, I stepped through a portal and was reunited with my family. And some sort of hairless gopher man. (I don’t know how much I believe Stan’s claim that this “Soos” is actually human.) 

But within the last couple days, I have grown concerned. Concerned with inconsistencies between this world and the one I remembered from thirty years ago. At first, I merely brushed these thoughts away, content to tell myself that after three decades, my memory would not be spot-on. However, the evidence has been piling up, and I can no longer ignore it.  
\- I have seen my journals again. I eagerly flipped through them at first, seeking out my favorite pages. The pages were not there, and there are some records of magical beings I have never heard of.  
\- Also in the journals, it stated that the shapeshifter became an uncontrollable creature of rage. That never happened. The shapeshifter, raised properly, became a productive member of society.  
\- The way Stanley told the tale, I was lost the day of an immense blizzard. The last day I recall spending time in my dimension was in June.  
\- My nephew Dipper explained how they determined that Fiddleford was my assistant. He claimed that the laptop they found had the label “McGucket Labs”. Fiddleford never opted for a serious name (which was something I had suggested). Rather, he defended his own choice of “Fiddleford Computermajigs” with every breath he had.  
\- The deed for the house (now called the Mystery Shack, like in many realities) has a different date on it.  
\- Stanley claimed that our brother, Shermie, was younger than us; an infant when we were in high school. Shermie is older than the both of us.  
\- When I was seeking assistance thirty years ago, I didn’t send Stanley a postcard. I called him, using the number my mother provided.  
\- The other day, I overheard a discussion on birthdays. Stan said that ours was June 15th. We were born three days later, on June 18th.

**Conclusions:**  
This is not my reality.

**Notes:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, this fic is finished! It was a lot of fun to write; I really enjoyed dabbling in so many different AUs. And I've grown attached to a few of them. Perhaps one day I'll revisit them for full-length fics.  
> For this chapter, I decided to use the theory I saw swirling around before the Gravity Falls finale: the Ford we see in the show is actually from a different reality.  
> Thank you everyone for commenting and leaving kudos! I'm glad that so many people enjoyed this.   
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [After The Portal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10694421) by [Haberdasher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher)




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